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TWENTY-NINE CHATS 


AND 

ONE SCOLDING 


BY 

IRev. ifret). C. ©’IRetU 


NEW YORK 

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION 
PUBLISHING COMPANY 

26 BARCLAY STREET 

1905 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

JAN 6 1905 

^ooyriii:nt c.ntry 

,^2^ 9 a// 

CLASS a XXC. Noi 

/^S Ji 7 ^ 

COPY 'a. 




IFmprfmatut 

JOHN J. O’CONNOR, D.D., 

Bishop of Newark^ N. J, 


Copyrighted, 1904, 

BY 

CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING 
COMPANY, 


TO 


THE MEMORY OP MY MOTHER 

Catberine 

AND TO THAT OP MY BROTHER 

IRev. ©eorge Doanc 

WHOM THE MASTER HAS CALLED HOME TO REST 
THIS LITTLE WORK IS LOVINGLY 


DEDICATED, 


IPretace* 


At no time in the history of the world 
could truth afford to hide itself in a fog of 
words, but there never was a time when clear 
thinking was more needed than in these 
early years of the 20th Century. We have 
so many things to think about, that hazy or 
misty ideas only make us angry. We have 
no time to waste in dispelling the mist, and 
so we pass on ; so much the worse for the 
ideas. 

But it is especially in the vast field of 
study covered by the word Religion, that we 
need the clearest of clear thinking. Modern 
educators insist a great deal on object- 
lessons,’’ and possibly they fancy that they 
have invented this method of vivid, realistic 
teaching. There was, however, a Teacher 
who came on earth nearly two thousand 
years ago. It was His divine mission to 
transmit to mankind whatsoever He had 
heard from the Father. This Teacher of 
teachers, as well as Teacher of the little ones, 
taught by object-lessons. Consider the 
lilies of the field,” He said, see how they 
5 


PREFACE. 


grow.’^ ^^Look at the birds of the air.” 
And the wise man had said in the Old Testa- 
ment : Go to the ant, thou sluggard, and 

consider her ways.” 

Rev. Father F. C. O’Neill, in his hook en- 
titled Twenty-nine Chats and one Scold- 
ing,” has imitated the Master ; he has gone 
to the lilies and the birds and the ant to 
point his beautiful lessons for both children 
and grown people. 

No one slept, we may be sure, when the 
Master spoke by the seashore of Galilee ; no 
child will squirm on his hard chair, or yawn, 
I warrant, when Father O’NeiH’s vivid 
pictures pass before his eyes. Every teacher 
of Christian Doctrine will welcome this book 
with both arms. 

William O’Brien Pardow, S. J. 


6 


Hutbot's preface. 


I AM creeping out into the world with this 
little work tucked under my arm, with a 
feeling very much akin to that, had by the 
young chap at school, who ambles out for 
the first time upon the stage. In his quiver- 
ing little heart the youngster knows that he 
is not going to create a great stir by his 
feeble attempt. At the same time he fears 
that at any moment he may be called in — in 
case of failure — by the teacher who is stren- 
uously whispering encouragement to him, in 
the side-wings, — and given a sound scold- 
ing. 

What led me to write such a tiny hook 
as this I cannot tell. I know there are 
many, many in the great school of the 
Priesthood who are better fitted a thousand 
times to do this sweet work for the little 
folks, than I am. 

Giving little sugar-coated pills of truth to 
the younger children is to my mind the most 
sacred duty of the Priest. I see no fairy 
ship on the horizon coming in, laden with 
sweet things for the babes, so I am launch- 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE. 


ing out my boat in the hope of teasing some 
gifted one into the same task. 

I hope this little tome will do some good. 
That it may coax some little soul to lose 
false fear and come closer to the Master, and 
see how sweet-tempered He is. If my first 
appearance prove a failure, I will have some 
little twitch of regret, of course. I will 
then go into the side-wings of obscurity and 
tell my tutor, that as yet I am not schooled 
sufficiently to say anything worth being 
listened to, even by the tots. 

However, let me say to the sterner folks I 
have come out to speak my little piece with 
the purest of intentions. If my attempt be 
met with disapproval, I will ever afterwards 
be quiet. 

You little ones I do not fear, I rather 
think you will like my chats. So here you 
are ! If I should please Our Saviour by my 
efPort, if I should cement some little hearts 
more closely to His, I won’t mind a little 
scolding. 

F. C. O’Neill. 


8 


Contents, 


PAGE 

The Leprahawn and the Golden Cup 11 

The Goose and the Casket 20 

Proserpina’s Peril 29 

Tommy Tod and the Lotus Tree 38 

The Gallant Young Bard 47 

Vis, the Goblin 56 

The Truant-Player 65 

The Flamingo AND THE Stork 74 

The Elves and the Dragon 84 

The Snow and the Owl’s Wisdom 95 

Following the Master 104 

The Animals’ Congress 113 

Alonzo AND THE Zang 123 

The Mermaid 131 

The Wonderful Ozone 143 

The Drama on the Mountain-Top 153 

The Piper-Fox 162 

The Pelican’s Good Deed 173 

The Minotaur 183 

The Frog and the Lily 193 


9 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

The Butterfly and the Bee 201 

The Fall of the Mice’s Castle 211 

Papinta, the Indian Girl 220 

Atalanta’s Wand 229 

Tad’s Trip to Mars 238 

Princess Florence’s Dream 248 

The Snail’s Victory 259 

Vincent’s Dream 272 

Evangeline 280 

The Scolding 288 


10 


Ubc Xeprabawn anb tbe (Bolben Cup. 

THE RESURRECTION OF THE BODY. 

Long, long ago, when the sun grew very 
ill, and had to stay a-bed, and the moon 
shone night and day, and the stars were used 
as diamonds in the angels’ crowns, I saw a 
timid little fairy come from, you’ll never 
guess where, hiding behind a mossy stone. 

She grew so frightened at beholding me, 
that I felt sorry I had come across her path, 
but, to convince her that I would do her no 
evil, I plucked a violet that was nodding to 
sleep near by, and held it up so as to let the 
little stranger know that I was her friend. 
She straightway knew the meaning of the 
token, for, blushing like a modest child, she 
strode softly over to where I stood, maybe 
she was loath to wake the sleeping birds; 
I know not. But at any rate, she whispered 
to me in the gentlest way, I have an ar- 
dent wish, good sir, and perhaps you can help 
me to gratify it.” I certainly will if I 
can,” said I, pleased at the trust she put 
in me. 

^^Well,” she sighed, while I am a real 
fairy, as you can see, I live not here in Erin, 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


but I came from an island many miles 
across the sea. One of our ancients told 
me, that in this fertile land, there thrives a 
set of little artisans called Leprahawns. Is 
it so ? ” I told her she was well informed. 

I hear they are makers of fairy boots, and 
that they carry chalices of gold,” — she hur- 
ried in a panting breath.” Yes, it is so,” I 
assured her. 

Now,” said she, assuming a sweeter and 
more deliberate tone, our great Sheik, 
who holds power over life and death, vowed 
me that should I be so fortunate as to get a 
chalice from one of these strange little men 
and take it to him, he would free my sisters 
and myself ; for you know in that isle, fairies 
are slaves to the Sheik.” 

^^Well,” I replied, gleaning now the 
purpose of her mission, you are in the best 
spot in the world to see a leprahawn ! Here 
in the Vale of Arklow, they frolic as they 
work the hours away. Come,” said I, 
gently taking her tiny hand in mine, let us 
sit here on this stone, behind which you hid, 
and as I live, one will soon come whistlinsr 

Hark ! what is that ? ” said she, as a soft 
rapping noise, like that a ghost would make, 
startled us. I looked up quickly, and on the 
trembling limb above me, I beheld a raven. 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


Now, I knew from childhood that ravens and 
leprahawns usually sought each other’s com- 
pany, so, I unfolded the doleful tale of the 
foreign fairy to the raven, who seemed to 
grow very sad over it all. 

Scarcely a moment had passed, when, 
seemingly in response to a strange note of 
the raven, we beheld a rosy-cheeked lepra- 
hawn come waddling down the path. Sure 
enough, from his belt a golden chalice 
dangled. He must have left his glasses at 
home, for he hobbled very close to where 
we sat, then, beholding us, he took to his 
heels and hastened on toward the Avenmore 
River. It would make you laugh to see 
Miss Fairy and me following in the chase. 
Poor Leprahawn was very stout and soon 
slowed in his pace. I was about to grasp 
the coveted gold chalice, when without warn- 
ing the little villain turned and flung it 
into a deep pit, containing some fine yellow 
sand. It instantly sank beneath the surface ; 
Miss Fairy wrung her hands in dismay. I 
felt sad too. 

Why do you weep, fair one ? ” said an old 
Alchemist, who came strolling along. We 
told him all that had happened. Alas ! 
the gold chalice is indeed turned into a mere 
dust by the chemical action of the sand, but, 
by my power I can restore it to its original 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CDP. 


beauty. 0, please, sir, do it ! ’’ pleaded Miss 
Fairy. The kindly old man made presently 
a few strange mixtures of clay and by the 
blending of them, the chalice sprang into 
life as bright as ever. He handed it gently 
to Miss Fairy, who thanked him very sweetly. 
Then in her bewilderment forgetting to bid 
me adieu, she rose in the air and sailed away 
to the East, singing as she went : Now we 
shall be free forever, free forever ! ” 

To be sure we all are glad that the fairies 
are free from their thraldom. But, that is 
not exactly the point I wish to dwell upon. 
The feat of the old Alchemist excites my 
wonderment the more ; I think all the wise 
men of the world who heard of what he did, 
nodded that it was indeed astonishing. 

This feat, little friends, is a type of a 
truth that I would impress upon you with 
this story. Your frail bodies, having after 
death crumbled into dust and mingled with 
the earth, shall by the power of the Almighty 
Alchemist be called back to the freshness 
of their youth on the great day of reckoning, 
and more wonderful than the fairies’ flight 
over the sea shall be their flight, united to 
their souls, — into eternity. 

Your bodies, little friends, will not descend 
into the bosom of the earth to remain there 
as a stone would. No, they will rise ao^ain 
14 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


at the last day and be reunited to the soul. 
You give your assent to this truth, when in 
the Creed you say, ‘‘ I believe in the resur- 
rection of the body.” It matters not where 
those bodies shall then be crumbling. Be 
they in the depths of the sea or in the moun- 
tain side, at the sound of the angel’s trumpet 
they shall all arise incorruptible. 

0, my little friends ! on that final day, I 
am sure you wish to arise with bodies brilliant 
and glorified. Then if that be your desire, 
you must now keep your bodies and your 
souls free from the taint of sin. For, as 
the body is on earth the partaker with the 
soul in its good or evil deeds, so shall it be 
for all eternity, a sharer in its glory or in its 
dishonor. 

Some one asked St. Paul one day — per- 
haps it was a child, I know not for certain, — 
how it could be that the dead could rise 
again, and with what manner of bodies they 
would rise. He answered them by a beau- 
tiful comparison. My little friends,” he 
said, you all know what a grain of wheat is.” 
I think just then he was passing a wheat 
field. They said yes they did. ^‘Well,” 
said he, that little speck is buried in the 
ground in the soft springtime just as if it 
were a tiny corpse. Then the heavens shed 
on it their gentle mists like fairy tears. The 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


sun throws its warm rays about it. Quite a 
pretty ceremony, if you please, goes with the 
burial of the small wheat grain. Then after 
its quiet sleep for weeks, it begins to rise 
out of its tomb, throws aside its earthly garb 
and lifts its graceful form above the ground. 
It was buried, but, it rose again with greater 
grace and comeliness than was dreamed of. 

So also,” said St. Paul, smiling at his 
young friends, shall the resurrection of your 
bodies be. They are sown natural bodies, 
mere seeds. They shall rise spiritual bodies, 
beautiful and adorned. They are sown in 
weakness. They shall rise in power.” 

I think St. Paul must have said many 
sweet things on this subject that we do not 
find in his Epistle. I can picture him say- 
ing to his children, as he fondly drew them 
to him, ‘‘ 0, my little friends ! What sort 
of a rising is yours going to be ? I trust you 
are going to keep your bodies pure and 
untarnished by sin, so that when you blos- 
som forth beyond the grave there will be a 
blossoming filled with buds, pleasing in odor 
to your Divine Lord. Truly then death is 
no longer the dark dismal passage you 
thought it heretofore. Standing on the 
very brink of Eternity, can you sing rejoic- 
ing, “ 0 grave, where is thy victory ? Death, 
where is thy sting ? ” 


16 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


In those blessed days when your Lord 
walked upon this earth, a ruler name Jairus 
lived. He had a daughter whom he dearly 
loved, she grew very ill one day and the 
father became alarmed. He hastened over 
the fields to where Our Blessed Lord was 
speaking with the disciples of John. 
Master,” he moaned, my daughter is even 
now dead, but, come lay thy hand on her, 
and she shall live.” Jesus, ever good of 
heart, went, and when He had entered into 
the house. He heard sad music and weeping. 
Looking with pity on the face of the dead 
maiden. He said, Give place ! The girl 
is not dead but sleepeth.” Then some of 
the wicked ones laughed Him to scorn. He 
took the maiden by the hand, however, and 
she opened awide her eyes as though she had 
been raised from slumber ; I suppose her 
father kissed her for joy. This, little friends, 
is but a type of our own awakening from the 
slumber of death, when the angel shall sum- 
mon us with his trumpet, and we shall meet 
in gladness those from whom we parted in 
tears. 

There once lived two pretty little girls. 
Through all the sweet days of childhood they 
were boon companions. One evening the 
smaller of the two stood sadly by the gate- 
way and said to her playmate. I am called 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


away for a while, dearest ! But, I will come 
back to you again, nor love you any the 
less. The months wore wearily on. The 
young traveler at length returned ; but, 
when the waiting friend saw her she screamed 
aloud in terror. 0, my friend, you are 
frightfully changed, what has befallen you, 
where is your former beauty ? ” 

0,’’ said the stricken one, ^^be not so loath 
to come to me, I am distorted with a deadly 
malady. But, remember you pledged your- 
self to be my companion, you shall not shun 
me because of my defilement.” I rather 
think the untainted child did scamper away. 
This, little friends, prefigures the meeting 
of the sin-laden soul and the body on Judg- 
ment day, after centuries mayhaps of separa- 
tion. Not through days, but through end- 
less ages shall they live on in their painful 
union, therefore, little friends, use the powers 
of your bodies and faculties of your souls 
according to God’s holy law. For just as 
surely as the sun shall rise on the morrow 
from the glory of the East, just so shall 
your bodies rise from the dampness of the 
grave. Ever keep in mind this thought : 
Every action I perform now, be it good or 
evil, will influence my condition of life in 
eternity. 

I can remember as a little child standing 


THE LEPRAHAWN AND THE GOLDEN CUP. 


by the edge of a tranquil pool, I picked up 
a pebble and threw it into the center of that 
pool. Instantly there began to ripple, from 
that point, tiny waves, nor did they cease 
expanding their circumference until they 
had touched the opposite bank far, far away. 
I have since thought, as I ever will, that the 
effect of our simplest actions do not cease 
with time, but go beyond, across the waters 
of life and touch the shores of eternity. 


19 


Ube 0OOSC anb tbe Casftet. 

THE soul’s and THE BODY’S INTERESTS. 


I WISH the times would return when birds 
and beasts could chatter and talk as we do 
now. It is long since they possessed this 
faculty. Many hundreds of years, I think. 
My ! what merry times for little folks those 
must have been, when there was one common 
language for all pets and their little masters. 
When a cat or a dog could say funny things 
instead of mewing or barking. But alas ! 
let us not sigh for the impossible, I guess 
those days will never come again. The 
reason I know they won’t is this : — 

A very old goose, the only one, in fact, in 
the whole world who retained the power of 
human speech from the days of yore, told 
me the following yarn, which of course I 
believe without reserve. Why shouldn’t I 
believe a goose ? 

I was hurrying along a country lane one 
day on my way to school when I stopped for 
an instant to pick up a few little apples that 
in a sleepy moment had tumbled from their 
cradles. When by the picket gate I looked 
20 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


askance, and I shivered as a big goose stood 
gaping at me. I had to laugh, however, at 
his apparent giddiness. This seemed to hurt 
his feelings. Know you, stranger,” quoth 
he with a trace of ire in his words, that geese 
and ganders did not always occupy so lowly 
a place in the animal world as now falls to 
our lot. Nor was our name always a by- 
word for silliness as it is now.” 

As I sat, I forgot all about school. ‘‘ You 
are too young to know,” he went on in a pater- 
nal way, but nigh five hundred years ago, a 
rich monarch of a far-off land, whose duty 
it was to govern, not men, but birds and 
fishes, declared that he was going to hold on 
a certain day, what he pleased to term, ‘ A 
Carnival of Wisdom.’ 

You, being a schoolboy, know what wis- 
dom is.” Oh ! sure,” said I. Teacher 
says I am too wise now.” W ell,” continued 

the old goose, a royal summons was sent 
broadcast through the land, calling all the 
members of the bird family to the funny test. 
There came thousands of birds of fine plu- 
mage and weird names from every point of the 
compass. Now mind you,” said the old gos- 
siper again, to remind me of his lost prestige, 
the goose at that time was held to be the 
wisest of birds.” Oh ! sakes ! I can’t be- 
lieve it,” I said. 


21 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


W ell, wait,” he drolled. When the vast 
concourse had quieted in the valley of Kazoo- 
zalum the pompous ruler came along on the 
back of a dragon. He held in one hand a 
treasure box, made from the purest gold, and 
studded with costly jewels that made every 
one blink. In this box, so the monarch de- 
clared, were hidden the gems of immortality. 
You know what that means ? ” queried the 
goose. I told him I thought I did. ‘‘ In 
the other he held,” continued my visitor, the 
prettiest casket I ever saw. It was richly 
colored and from it a sweet smell kept coming 
out. It was made of clay. ^ This, said the 
lordly old man, ‘ is the casket of immortality 
and passing joy.’ 

Oh ! joy ! ” I sighed. ^ Which would 
you choose as your life’s possession ? ’ said he, 
as he drew up in front of each of his subjects. 
Without a single exception all the other birds 
chose the casket of gold. This I thought 
queer. When the monarch stopped before 
me, and sought of me my liking, I could not 
hide my admiration for the casket of clay. 
As I thought, so did I speak. 

^ The latter, your majesty, do we the geese 
and ganders of your kingdom choose as the 
more precious treasure, for it is certainly 
more beautiful and pleasing to the eye.’ 

The king bowing and smihng with a sinis- 
22 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


ter smile approached and gave me the casket 
of clay, which I had scarcely grasped when I 
let it fall. It shattered into a thousand frag- 
ments. At this mishap the entire concourse 
loudly laughed. A howhng wind came along 
just then and swept the pieces into the valley. 
A scowl now crept over the king’s face and he 
thundered. ^ It is as I thought. I have 
but one set of fools in all my domain. Any- 
one who would prefer moldering clay to 
purest gold is indeed wanting in good sense.’ 
We were then branded as brainless creatures, 
and were ordered to fly from the valley of 
Kazoozalum. This we did in disgrace. W e 
landed after hours of flight on the plains of 
Babylon. I have heard,” said the goose 
pensively, ^Hhat since that time, the word 
goose is applied to human beings who show 
a want of brains. Is it so? ” 

I said, You are quite right, Mr. Goose, 
it is so.” 

He now said no more but waddled away, 
and in a very saucy manner wagged his tail 
at me. I could not help thinking that he 
and his companions richly deserved his title, 
for being so silly as to choose the frail earthen 
vessel to one of lasting gold. 

You see now, that the word foolish was 
coined just to fit a goose. What puzzles 
me then is, why do teachers and such wise 
23 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


people sometimes call it to little folks ? It 
must be that these latter act as geese and 
ganders acted of old. I guess that is the 
reason. But when has a boy or even a girl 
ever made a choice so unwise as the goose 
made ? They make such a choice as often as 
they take for the object of their care and 
life’s solicitude, the clay caskets of the body 
and overlook the gold caskets of the soul. 
One will soon crumble away as the box did 
when the goose took it into his bill. The 
other will be more lasting than the gold box, 
which the wise birds chose as their por- 
tion. 

Now let us look at the question fairly. 

Let us consider what the body is, its use, its 
life, its destiny. And then let us recall what 
the soul is, the duration of its life through 
eternity. The great Monarch, Almighty 
God, has fashioned your tender little bodies 
from the clay of the earth. He gave them 
certain graces, of course, greater than any 
sculptor could have done. In fact, any one 
of your bodies is a marvel so wonderful that 
no human power can imitate it. Year by 
year, those little bodies grow and become 
more graceful, as though they were so many 
flowers. But then, too, as the flowers, at the 
close of a few years, they begin to lose their 
grace and freshness, they droop and die. 

24 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


Ah ! yes, and die. And what is more, they 
mingle with the dust, whence first they were 
taken. 

Note the resemblance to the clay casket in 
all these things. 

Now, little friends, the soul is the casket 
of untainted gold, studded with the glisten- 
ing jewels of God’s gifts. Is it more pre- 
cious than the body ? Oh, yes, and infinitely 
more so, for its price is the sufferings, sighs, 
and death of your Saviour. Will it crumble 
and decay with the body? No! no! The 
poor little body will have lain centuries in 
the tomb, when even the stone above it shall 
have tottered and fallen. The soul will still 
be living on with the eternal vigor of youth, 
happy, too, in the union with God, I hope. 
Thus, you see, how manifold are the reasons 
why your souls should claim more care than 
your bodies. Let me here apply these re- 
marks to your own little selves. 

Heretofore which interests have usurped 
the greater number of your moments ; those 
of your soul or those of your body? To be 
truthful, you will say with regret that your 
bodies have been the greater objects of your 
care. Every little ache or pain that annoyed 
them you tried instantly to take away. You 
fed them, and washed them, and adorned 
them with untiring regularity. You clothed 
25 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


them gracefully, and rested them when they 
grew faint. I hear the gentle voice of com- 
plaint coming from your soul now. 

Indeed/’ itmurmurs/’no such gentle care 
was shown to me ! For days did I lan- 
guish, thirsting and hungering for the food of 
prayer, and none was given to me. My lips 
burned to taste the sweet waters of the sacra- 
ments, and these were withheld from me. I 
yearned to fly heavenward and my wings 
were pinioned. Oh ! no, I have not been 
dealt fairly with, by my little master.” I 
hope that not many of you can say that you 
have been guilty of these neglects, little 
friends ; your soul is everything to you, your 
body is nothing. If you have ever gazed 
upon a body from which the soul has taken 
flight, I am sure you would act more wisely. 

See the eyes that once sparkled with glad- 
ness, now sightless and sunken. See the lips 
that a few days before gave voice to cheery 
words, now being slowly eaten away by worms. 
See the little hands that busied themselves in 
so many frivolous things, falling into decay. 
Above all, see the heart that throbbed with 
warm pulses, now still and cold. 

Through just such a process, will those 
little bodies pass that you now so pamper. 
Therefore live not for their ease alone but 
make them always the servants to the interest 
20 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


of your soul. Our dear Lord in speaking 
to a number of His young followers on the 
interests of the soul, once said, “ Be not so- 
licitous for your life, what you shall eat, nor 
for your body what you shall put on. Is 
not the life more than the meat, and the 
body more than the raiment ? Behold the 
birds of the air : for they neither sow, nor do 
they reap, nor gather into barns, and your 
heavenly Father feedeth them. Consider 
the lilies of the field, how they grow ; they 
labor not, neither do they spin. But I say 
to you that not even Solomon in all his glory 
was arrayed as one of these. Now if your 
Father in heaven so clothes the grass of the 
field, which is to day, and to morrow is cast 
into the oven, how much more will He care 
for you, 0 ye of little faith ! Be not anx- 
ious therefore, saying. What shall we eat, 
or what shall we drink, or wherewith shall 
we be clothed ? for the heathen seek after all 
these things. Seek ye therefore, first, the 
Kingdom of God and His justice, and all 
these things shall be added unto you.” 

I think this is one of the nicest talks our 
Saviour ever gave. Do try, little friends, to 
live up to the lesson He teaches. 

I once knew a little Cuban boy who in all 
his life had never seen snow. One winter 
day, as he came on a visit to this country, 
27 


THE GOOSE AND THE CASKET. 


snow covered the ground with its dazzling 
whiteness. What a beautiful thing snow 
is ! ” With his little fat hands he molded a 
hall and said, I will send it to my mother.’’ 
But the sun then came out and in a few minutes 
chased the snow away. So, little friends, will 
your bodies pass away, on the bosom of 
Mother Earth. 

In conclusion then, ask yourselves each 
night, as you look back over the plain of the 
day. What have I done in the past hours for 
my soul, and what for my body ? If you 
find that your selfish bodies have received 
too much attention, and your souls very little, 
or none at all, then resolve to be fair. Per- 
form some little spiritual act, so that the two 
little striving forces may at least be abreast 
in the race. 


28 


firoscrpfna’s peril, 

PRAYER. 

Poor Proserpina ! Her history is such 
a touching story, that I almost feel inclined 
not to tell it to you, my little friends. 
When I reflect, however, that its recital 
may be of benefit to your sinless souls, I am 
led to tell you all about her most wilHngly. 

They say she was the gentlest, comeliest 
child that ever lived. But I can scarcely 
admit this. Anyhow, she was the pet of 
her mother, Ceres. Together they dwelt on 
an island that slumbered on the bosom of 
the sea. Proserpina at first had no play- 
mates, for no other mortal lived within 
one hundred leagues of her. When she 
blossomed into girlhood, she grew lonely, and 
said she to herself, I will make friends with 
the naiads of the sea, those grateful little 
darlings that know no care ; for companions 
I must have.” 

So one day she put on her bonnet made 
of poppies, and strolled down to the golden 
sands, where the sea nymphs were at play. 
They gave her a welcome that gladdened 
29 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


her poor little heart. They had brought 
with them a great many beautiful shells, and 
sitting down on the moist sand where the 
surf waves broke over them, they busied 
themselves in making a necklace. This they 
hung around Proserpina’s neck. Her won- 
dering eyes glistened with gratitude, so they 
did, and curling up her little lips, she kissed 
the one nearest her and said, I love you 
and your sisters too. I could live with you 
always.” 0, that would be delightful ! ” 
they all answered. 

Just then the wavelets that had hitherto 
been dancing in merriment and throwing 
their silver spray to the sunlight, suddenly 
grew calm as though affected by a spell. 
The tallest of the naiads and presumably 
their queen, began now to sing. The first 
few notes were glad but, as the song went 
on, there seemed a wicked foreboding in her 
strain. 

0, see ! ” cried Proserpina, as her eyes 
caught something coming over the crests. 
Now what she beheld would excite the awe 
of any child. Six white steeds drawing a 
shell chariot came galloping toward the 
shore. In the chariot holding the reins, 
stood an aged man and Proserpina overheard 
his name. It was King Pluto. Before the 
wondering little maiden could say another 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


word, she was lifted into the chariot by a 
satellite. With the naiads swimming about 
her and laughing in glee, the steeds set off 
to sea. I know not why it was, but Proser- 
pina’s smiles turned quickly into tears. She 
felt perhaps, the forebodings of danger ; 
neither were her feelings amiss, for without 
warning, these steeds darted beneath the 
waves. They soon galloped to the mossy 
bottom. More affrighted than ever did 
Proserpina become when on looking down, 
she beheld that she had been transformed 
into a sea naiad too. 

Meanwhile Ceres, working in the fields, 
heard the faint echo of a syren song, like a 
winter wind moaning through the dead trees. 
Straightway did it occur to her that, per- 
chance, harm had befallen her darling. The 
thought now flashed into her mind : There 
is one person who must have seen Proserpina 
and who can tell me, doubtless, what fate 
has come upon her. So she ran to the 
bower of Phoebus wherein sunshine and 
gladness ever play. 0 Phoebus,” ex- 
claimed she, see my distress ! Tell me 
what has become of Proserpina, my child ! ” 
Phoebus who, of course, knew all happenings, 
then began to relate to Ceres the doleful tale. 
“ Why ! ” said Phoebus, and as he spoke he 
kept touching his lyre so as to make a thread 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


of music run in and out amongst his words, 
she has been taken away to the cave of the 
naiads, over which Pluto holds sway/’ 

0 good Phoebus,” tearfully besought the 
mother, will she never return to me ? ” 
0 yes,” said Phoebus with calmness, al- 
though she is changed into a real sea nymph, 
I remember that yesterday I gave the little 
runaway a pomegranate. I recall she did 
not eat it. If she still has this with her, she 
can be freed. If she should open that fruit 
and take therefrom a seed, she will instantly 
render powerless the charms of the naiads, 
and even of Pluto himself.” 

0 Heaven, direct her to do so ! ” prayed 
Ceres. She now ran to the shore where the 
waves lashed in fury the insensible rock, and 
called out to Proserpina what Phoebus had 
spoken. I can hardly believe that Proserpina 
heard the mother’s voice, yet, wonderful to 
relate, the waves tempered their maddened 
motion and a calm came. 

A few moments passed, and Ceres espied 
a pearly shell guarded by angels skimming 
over the waters to her. Sure as life ! Pro- 
serpina reclined within it. Phoebus mean- 
while stood within the door of his bower 
singing a psalm of joy. 0, blessed the 
seed that delivered me from lasting impris- 
onment ! ” said Proserpina. Fondly did 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


Ceres fold her long-lost child in her arms and 
Proserpina was evermore happy. 

There is an incident in this story I have, 
through fear, withheld from every one here- 
tofore. To you, however, I will tell it, for 
you are my little friends : — After Ceres and 
Proserpina had gone rejoicing to the bower 
of Phoebus, one of the angels who guided 
the shell, tarried on the shore and began to 
talk to me. His voice was sweeter than 
music. What has just happened you think 
is wonderful, don’t you ? ” he queried of me. 

‘‘ O, it is quite so, good angel,” said I, 
bowing low as one should to a heavenly 
messenger. W ell,” said he, I don’t mind 
telling you, but the pomegranate seed that 
Phoebus gave to Proserpina had nothing to 
to do with her delivery from the cave of 
Pluto.” No ? ” said I, really astonished. 

No ! ” answered the angel, ‘‘ the truth is : 
Proserpina is a little Christian at heart.” 

‘‘ Full many a time as she sat by the sea- 
side in in her loneliness, I came to her and 
kept her company and unfolded to her the 
beauty of Christian truths, just as a mother 
would unfold the petals of a blushing flower 
to her child. As time wore on, she grew to 
love the mysteries of the Faith and so I 
baptized her with the waters of the rill. 
That happened yester-morn. I impressed 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


on her the necessity of prayer particularly in 
the moment of danger, either spiritual or cor- 
poral. When the naiads beguiled her to 
the chariot of Pluto, the little dear began 
instantly to pray. The good Lord sent me 
to deliver her from her peril. I came and 
did so. Mind you, the pomegranate seed 
had, nothing to do with it.” 0, I believe 
you, good angel,” I said, without reserve. 

The heavenly spirit now lowered his voice 
and drawing close to me whispered, This is 
a lesson for a careless Httle boy. When 
the devil would carry you away into his do- 
minions, you must pray with the fervor that 
Proserpina did. The Lord of heaven will 
straightway send His spirits to aid you.” 

O how wonderful a thing prayer is ! ” 
I sighed. Truly so,” said the angel. All 
the while the angel tarried, I had kept my 
eyes upon the ground, knowing that I was 
not good enough to behold an angel’s face. 
Now I lifted my eyes but the angel had 
gone. Well, I am glad,” said I, that I 
know the truth, because Phoebus is proud 
and I will humiliate him by telling the world 
that his pomegranate seed had nought to do 
with Proserpina’s delivery.” 

You little tots have already heard more 
about prayer from your parents and teachers 
than ever one like me could tell vou. How- 
34 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


ever, as I am a priest, may be I can put into 
your little noddles’’ a few thoughts that 
your other friends may have overlooked. 
You must know that it is by prayer that 
Almighty God wishes you to praise Him, and 
in prayer, you must couch your words of love 
to Him. It is by prayer that you are to 
obtain the daily ration of grace that is essen- 
tial to the life of your souls. As food is to 
your bodies, so is prayer to your souls. You 
would not think of letting days go by with- 
out partaking of food, so should you be 
loath to let your souls remain deprived of 
their essential nourishment. 

I am sure that no child with a kind heart 
would dream of keeping his little pet bird 
wanting for seed for a long while. Yet I 
fear your little pet souls, caged up in a mor- 
tal body, are often left to languish for need 
of heavenly food through your carelessness. 

It is really hard to fathom why some little 
folks are so prone to neglect prayer, par- 
ticularly when you have grasped what it is. 
It is a privilege of speaking with the King 
and Lord of all creation, with Him who 
holds in His hands, the power to grant every 
favor for which the human heart can sigh. 
0 children ! do not become careless at any 
period of your lives in this holy practise 
of prayer, for when all the friends of youth 
35 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


have passed away or have proved faithless 
with time, your Lord will stand then as ever, 
your truest confidant, whispering gently the 
same old words, Come to me, all ye who 
labor and are heavily burdened, and I will 
refresh you/’ 

What will my Lord give me if I pray ? 
Anything that is good for your soul. How 
can I get the graces I need ? By simply ask- 
ing for them with faith and perseverance. 

One day a little boy, whose name I shall 
withhold, stood in front of a fruit-store. 
He looked wistfully at the shiny-cheeked 
apples and the tiny grapes that rubbed their 
noses together and whispered funny things 
to one another. A lazy breeze came saun- 
tering along, caught up the generous fra- 
grance and wafted it into the sunburnt face 
of my young friend. The little loiterer 
sighed as he filled his lungs with the sweet- 
ened air : O how I would love to taste 
some of that fruit ! ” 

Tell me, good chap, which of these 
fruits you desire,” said an old man who had 
heard all, for 1 own the fruit-stand.” What 
think you the foolish lad did ? He glanced 
into the generous old face for a moment, 
then walked away without making known 
his wish. Now, even you will agree that 
little lads can sometimes do foolish things. 


PROSERPINA’S PERIL. 


Your Gentle Lord, the Dispenser of all 
good things, invites you — his little friends — 
into His fruit-store and asks you : What 
fruit, what grace do you want, my child ? ” 
To His generous offer, alas ! you ofttimes 
make no reply, but walk away as did the lad 
with the sunburnt cheeks. 

All the little saints now in heaven were 
children of fervent prayer while they tarried 
here. So must you be, lest you will falter 
on the way heavenward and be lost. Fre- 
quent prayers will keep you in friendly touch 
with Jesus. It will lighten your hearts and 
strengthen your souls from temptation. 

W atch and pray, lest you fall into tempta- 
tion,” were the words that Jesus spoke to 
his disciples on the night of His agony in 
Gethsemane. The same He calls out to you 
to-day from His little House of Love.” 

Proserpina’s rescue from the caverns of 
the sea by the power of her prayers is only 
a type of your delivery from the allurements 
of the tempter that are sure to encompass 
you when your little hearts grow older and 
childhood shall be to you as a half-forgotten 
dream. 


37 


Uomms xro& an& tbc %otus Uree. 

DECEITFULNESS OF SIN. 

So long ago, I cannot recall the place, 
there lived a King. I am pleased to say, 
that unlike most Kings, this one was unself- 
ish and kind. The proof that he possessed 
these qualities of heart is, that he took unto 
himself as his own, a little orphan lad named 
Tommy Tod. They lived together in a pal- 
ace, the like of which has never been equaled 
before, or since, for, betimes it floated 
through the air, then rested in the mountain, 
just as the King wished. Tommy had 
everything a boy’s heart could wish for, and 
that is saying much indeed. So, naturally, 
he was as happy as could be. 

It was the little fellow’s wont to rise at 
dawn, and then go down to the shore and 
chatter to the waves as they came rollicking 
in upon the white sand, whispering some- 
thing to Tommy that neither you, nor I could 
ever understand. Having unburdened their 
sweet little secrets, they would steal away, 
modestly drawing their flimsy white tresses 
after them. Tommy would laugh aloud at 
this, and run toward them, as though to 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


catch them. Now do you suppose that this 
royal youngster went to the shore each morn- 
ing solely to tease the waves ? No indeed, 
my little friends ! The real purpose was to 
gather the tiny pearls that pushed their 
glittering heads above the sands, just to flirt 
with Tommy I suppose. However, it would 
not be policy to let the waves know this, or 
else I think a jealousy might arise. 

However, as he stood one morning watch- 
ing the ocean heave and swell, as though it 
was sighing over something. Tommy be- 
held a speck on the horizon, it grew and 
grew like magic, until he danced with glee 
and shouted, ’Tis the King’s vessel veering 
homeward from the Utopian Isle. 0, what 
a thrilling tale the sailors will have to tell ! ” 
I never heard of a ship sailing so fast, for 
ere the boy finished his words, the vessel 
was being moored to the quay. He had 
thought aright, a merry tale did the jolly 
tars have to tell him. 

0 Tommy ! ” said one, on that isle there 
is a lotus tree, the fruit of which will bring 
you endless joy.” But,” said the jolly tar 
with a wink, one taste of that fruit will cost 
a thousand pearls — ’Tis not for mortals poor 
as we.” Ah, what care I replied the 
favored lad, a thousand pearls have I and 
more, and so I will sip the magic sweetness. 

39 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


A snow-white swan that had been snoozing on 
the water now moved toward Tommy. You 
must know that swans, in those days, were 
very very large. 

The boy leaped upon his feathery back, 
and my ! how it skimmed over the sea. It 
flew betimes, then swam, and so the young- 
ster had a variety on his trip. Many hours 
slipped by when in truth they seemed but 
moments. 

‘‘ 0, see ! ” at length cried the young 
voyager pulling tight the golden cords that 
guided the swan. There is the isle of 
Utopia.^’ The swan then said something 
cross, but I could not quite catch what it 
was. 

What ugly faces you have,’’ said Tommy, 
as he stood before the Chief Mogul ” of 
the Isle — I think it was imprudent for him 
to speak, but forsooth he was very haughty. 
‘‘ You would eat of the lotus tree?” queried 
the Chief grinning hideously. Yes,” replied 
Tommy like a man, and here are my 
thousand pearls.” At this a fair damsel, 
that he had not heretofore noticed, prof- 
fered him the fruit. Tommy’s jeweled hand 
grasped it eagerly. He tasted it, it was in 
very fact delicious. Its flavor permeated 
every fiber of his being; he whacked his 
hands on his knees. He laughed and sang, 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


he hnew not why. Now he reclined upon a 
bright cloud that exhaled perfume. It em- 
braced him and bore him away into space. 

The lotus fruit is sweeter than they said/’ 
thought he. Gradually the cloud faded 
from him, it let him fall from its soft touch. 
He now heard the lashing waves, and the 
winds shrieking through the giant rocks. 
He stood, and pressed his brain. “ 0 
God ! where am I? ” he cried, as a cold breath 
swept across his brow. Harsh laughter 
from many voices was the only answer to his 
cry of anguish. 

Everything was folded in a Stygian dark- 
ness, he thought he heard the bell in his 
castle tower and the whispering of his pet 
waves, but no ! I see it all,” he moaned at 
last. I have given up my pearls for a 
taste of the lotus fruit ! ” 0 fool that I 

am ! I have left my home, my good master 
the King, and for what ? — here his voice was 
lowered into an indistinct whisper, know 
death will soon take me. I feel his icy hand 
now falling on my eyes. I am dying ! ” 

In the dawn, the lifeless form of a fair 
youth rested on the sorrowing waters. The 
features were as of one asleep. Guided as if 
by the breath of a spirit, the tide bore its 
burden past the shores of the King’s castle. 
The birds were singing as was their wont, 
41 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


the bell tolled, but its notes were sad. The 
waves ran playing upon the sloping sand in 
quest of Tommy as of yore. Though they 
knew it not, he was to greet them no more. 
He had tasted of the lotus tree. 

Believe me, little friends, although I wrote 
this quaint tale for you, I did not savor the 
task, for it is too sad ; but then I reflect, it 
tells the lesson of sin, and sin is always sad. 
It is deceitful, too, and cruel, and this is the 
point I would drive home. The misery and 
ruin it brings upon guileless souls is far 
worse than that which befell poor Tommy 
Tod. Almighty God has created you little 
folks to be happy, not alone hereafter, 
eternally, but here also in this life. A little 
grief must blend into your years, now and 
then, but like the little headache, that has 
visited you already, it will soon pass away, 
and you wiU be soothed again, and happy ; 
but the gloom that follows mortal sin is 
blacker, and more bitter than any other, 
because, it rankles in the soul, and conscience, 
and not alone in the heart. You will see 
the weight of my words later on in life, 
clearer than you do now, little friends ; for 
as yet you have not strayed very far away 
from the loving Saviour, nor crept away 
beyond the zone for His sweet call. 

My words, then, are a gentle warning, for 
42 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


many years cannot pass along before the 
same enticements will be laid before you, 
that coaxed poor Tommy Tod into ruin. 
The tempter will steal to you, as you play 
beneath the shadows of your Father’s castle, 
and point out to you the luxury of the 

Utopian Isle ” of sin ; but beware, little 
chums ; be not deceived. Get real stern and 
say to your seducer : Begone ! Tell me no 
more of your isle of delights ” I prize the 
pearls of grace, given me by the Master, too 
sacred to throw them away for the mere 
taste of a fruit, that intoxicates for the mo- 
ment, but then deals destruction and death. 

Sometimes I think there is no one in the 
world better fitted to see that real deceitful- 
ness of sin, than your spiritual Father. As 
he sits in the confessional and bows his head 
,to catch the tales of sin, the sacred stillness, 
is now and then broken by gentle sobs and 
sighs, that tell only too well, that another 
heart has been torn, another soul has been 
led away from the “ Castle of Peace.” And 
hour after hour, like the interminable fall- 
ing of waves upon the shore, come the 
self-same laments, ‘‘ 0 Father ! my sin has 
given me no pleasure. It took me away 
from Jesus. Since then I have pined, I have 
suffered in the darkness, but now, I have 
come home again by the light of grace.” 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


Now, young friends, I want to put this ques- 
tion before you, What does the foolish little 
sinner gain and what does he lose by mortal 
sin ?” Well, he gains, if you may so term 
it, a fleeting moment of pleasure, and, let me 
see ; do you know, I cannot recall any other 
advantage sin has. 

What does the little sinner lose ? Ah ! 
now I can assure you, many priceless goods, 
— First, Peace of Heart, goes away with sin, 
no one can do what is wrong and be happy 
— Divine grace too is driven out — that sweet 
life of the soul ; you thrust from you by 
sinning, the gentle hand of your Lord, who 
has guided you past many a dangerous 
chasm. By sinning mortally you harden 
your little hearts, you deprive them of the 
dew of Grace ; they dry up, and become 
callous, so that they are no more prone to love 
the Master, or any of the little things about 
His House. 

Alas ! it has been said that a child whose 
heart has been toughened by mortal sin, can 
look upon the face of a mother still in death, 
and feel no pang of sorrow, nor shed one 
sacred tear ; I cannot see how this can be, I 
doubt it for one, nor blush to do so ; I feel, 
children, that if but one moment separated 
me from eternity, I would use that moment 
in calling to you to beware of the deceitful- 
44 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


ness of mortal sin, in printing on your un- 
stained hearts with letters of fire the words, 

Sin is a vile deceiver/’ 

In your Bible history you may read the 
story of Jonathan, son of Saul. He lamented 
that he should be condemned to death for 
the mere tasting of a drop of honey, Alas ! 
he moaned, I did hut sip of a little honey 
and lo ! I must die.” 

His cry has echoed through the centuries, 
and many a young heart has, through the 
years, unfettered the same sigh. I know a 
bright little chap who calls sin April fool 
candy, I know why too, but I won’t tell, you 
must guess that riddle yourselves. 

0 boys and girls ! if I succeed in making 
one soul here, more cautious in future 
against the enticings of sin, I will hold my- 
self paid for my task. If I prevent but two 
little feet from being led astray by the gaudy 
pageantry of sin, I will be happy. If my poor 
words will dry one tiny tear that glistens on 
the cheek of some penitent, I will not have 
written in vain. 

Not many of my little friends, hut per- 
haps a few have already caught the first 
sound of the tempting whisper that comes 
across the waters from the Utopian Isle ” 
to come, taste of the lotus-tree of sin. If 
the voice has awakened you to curiosity just 
45 


TOMMY TOD AND THE LOTUS TREE. 


run and bury your fevered faces in the 
folds of the mantle of Jesus. Cling to Him, 
He will fold vou in His arms, as He smiles 
sweetly upon you, and keep all harm afar. 
The danger will soon pass, then you will 
look up into His face, and tell Him that you 
are His forever. 


46 


Xrbe (Ballant l^oung SSarb. 


RESPECT FOR THE AGED. 

The day of trial had at last begun to 
dawn. The morning air was filled with 
melody and song, as the young minstrels 
walked slowly along the lake-side toward the 
palace. Erin’s gracious ruler had promised 
a crown of gold to the young bard who, on 
the royal birthday, should sing the most 
touching ballad. The couriers had made 
known the imperial wish many weeks before, 
and now, in obedience to the summons, the 
young songsters of Erin streamed through 
hill and dale toward the castle, their hearts 
throbbing the while with the hope of bearing 
away the prize. Bursts of song could be 
heard, now and then, echoing through the 
valleys. 

Arrayed in his costliest robes, the King 
stood at the castle-gate to welcome his 
guests. A clear note from the clarion at 
length announced to all that the hour of trial 
had come. The King, attended by his 
courtiers and pages, strode with majestic step 
to his throne. The clamor of the many 
thousands that thronged the vast hall now 
ceased, as the passing of a storm. The still- 
47 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


ness was Intensified as His Majesty arose to 
speak, He had uttered but a few words 
when an angry look gleamed from his eye. 
He glanced toward the door and every one 
shuddered as he roared : Madam, how dare 
you enter within and halt me as I speak ! ” 
pointing in scorn the while at an old woman 
who fell trembling at his feet. My court- 
iers ! Remove the woman at once/’ he cried. 
They sprang to effect his bidding. 

Hold, sirs ! ” cried a pleading voice, as 
a youth clad in white with cingle of gold, 
stood above the prostrate old creature. 

Sire ! ” he cried, raising his hand to the 
King, hear me as I speak.” The softening 
of the King’s countenance, however, was the 
only warrant he had to proceed. Standing 
erect, with his left hand resting upon his 
beloved harp, the stranger said : W orthy 
Sire ! My mother died when I was a mere 
babe. My father was stricken down whilst 
fighting under your standard. This old 
woman, then youthful and fair, pitied my 
loneliness and took me to her home. When 
grown to boyhood days, in gratitude, I would 
sing to her at eventide, for she loved my 
voice. Then she prophesied, Some day 
you will sing before the King as a bard.” 
For this honor, she prayed along the years. 

Time came when I entered one of your 
48 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


halls of minstrelsy. Through the eight 
long years of my study, her prayer mingled 
with my song. God grant/’ she prayed, 
“ that I shall not die till I see you an honored 
minstrel before the King,” She has spent 
her life for me. The occasion she longed for 
is at hand. No, Sire ! she shall not be driven 
from this hall else shall I go with her.” 

All the while the young singer spoke, 
kindlier feelings w^ere softening the King’s 
heart. Enough,” he cried at last, your 
tasted friend, old and poor though she be, 
shal'l remain to listen to your song.” The 
old woman raised not her trembling head but 
a little tear told that she was grateful. 

The herald now came forward and called 
the names of those who were to contest for 
the royal favor. One after another did they 
mount the rostrum, and twang their clair- 
seachs sweet of tone, as their voices strong and 
tuneful resounded through the vast enclosure. 
And the King was pleased. 

Nine of the young bards had stood before 
him and told of Erin’s glory in strife. Now 
all eyes were turned toward the rostrum, as 
the last contestant began his song. Unlike 
the rest, he was slender and timid. Unlike 
them too, he sang not of battle. His was a 
gentler theme. As he began soft and low, 
the murmur went the round, He singeth a 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


Suan-tree, a slumber song.’’ The old woman 
now lifted her head and her face gladdened 
with memories of times long past. She 
murmured as her dim eyes glistened, ’Tis 
the song he sang to me years ago at the 
door of the cabin.” The voice rose gently, 
and fell again in soft cadence, and the 
beaming eyes of the youthful bard rested the 
while on his old guardian. There was 
something of unusual pathos in his tones, 
for the King lowered his head upon his 
bosom and seemed much affected. Softer 
and softer, as the dying of day, the young 
minstrel closed his song. The last note lin- 
gered in the hearts of all. When he seated 
himself, no shout of applause rent the air, 
but a sigh of satisfaction which told that 
the hearts of all had been touched, breathed 
about him. 

The stately old monarch now arose. My 
people,” said he, “ your souls and mine have 
been soothed by a melody of heaven. There 
can be no doubt, the crown shall be given to 
the gallant young bard.” The old woman, 
trembling with emotion, now came forth and 
kissed the saintly lips of him who had sung 
so tenderly. As the concourse swept from 
the hall at the beckon of the King, this prayer 
lingered, ‘‘ God is with the young bard, for 
he hath respect for the aged.” 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


Do you know, little friends, my heart beats 
quicker and my cheeks burn with a strange 
pride when I think of the chivalrous deed of 
that young bard. When I recall, too, that 
many of us are children of that same race 
whose glories he sang so sweetly. Yes, the 
ages separate us, still do we feel bound to him 
by the ties of love. 

I am sure you will agree with me that a 
crown of gold, was a gift none too good for 
the gallant young minstrel. His deed of 
defending the poor old woman was one that 
deserves to be written in letters of gold on 
the pages of history, although I have never 
seen it there. But the recording angel has 
account of it, I have no doubt. 

It may not be amiss for me here, children, 
to ask the question : Is your manner toward 
the aged ones whom you meet so frequently, 
thoughtful and kind ? Do you respect them, 
and do you refrain from saying and doing 
things that might wound their feelings? 
Answer these questions truthfully. 

You can take it as a principle, my young 
friends, that those children who show defer- 
ence for the aged are gifted with good hearts, 
and noble impulses of soul. There is a sweet 
train of memories thrown about an aged one 
that is really sacred to any good boy or girl. 

As you, with eyes bright and features still 
51 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


fresh in youth, look into the face of an aged 
person, you, no doubt, feel that you are stand- 
ing in the presence of one whom God wishes 
you to respect. Here you are, just begin- 
ning the battle of life. There stands one 
who is about to lay down its burdens, and 
cease from the struggle, — one about whom 
the mists of evening are gently falling, and 
one, too, who perhaps will receive from the 
Master’s lips the gentle approval, W ell 
done, thou good and faithful servant.” 

Ah ! little friends, a rude mannered child, 
little realizes what he does when he shows 
disrespect to an aged person. Time was, 
when those dim eyes sparkled with merriment 
just as yours do now. Time was, when that 
weak, untuneful voice was lifted in shouts of 
childish glee. Time was, too, when that 
faltering step was lithe and quick, in the 
games that now so delight your hearts. But 
the years have rolled on over that hoary 
old head, singing now a gladsome melody, 
now, a dirge of sorrow, in the flight. Be- 
hind those failing eyes, however, there is a 
memory that could unfold, perhaps, deeds of 
heroism and self-denial for others that would 
make you burn with shame. Here is another 
thought, mark it well : Old age holds a 
claim on your reverence for this reason : Of 
itself, it tells as a rule that the years now 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


passed and gone were spent in God’s service, 
or at least in obedience to His holy law. 
For only to those who have been virtuous, or 
at least temperate in all things, has been 
given the stamina to reach old age. 

An aged King used to tell the children of 
his domain that they would be treated in 
their old age just as they then respected 
their elders. I do not doubt there was much 
truth in his warning. This same old ruler 
would have it that there was an element of a 
hero in every boy. I was prone to doubt 
this myself until I came across the following 
immortal poem. Then I said to myself, The 
king was right. A boy can truly be a hero.” 

The woman was old and ragged and gray 
And bent with the chill of the winter’s day ; 

The street was wet with a recent snow, 

And the woman’s feet were aged and slow. 

She stood at the crossing and waited long 
Alone, uncared for amid the throng 
Of human beings who passed her by, 

Nor heeded the glance of an anxious eye. 

Down in the street, with laughter and shout, 
Glad in the freedom of “ school let out ” 

Came the boys, like a flock of sheep. 

Hailing the snow piled white and deep. 

Past the woman so old and gray 
Hastened the children on their way, 

Nor offered a helping hand to her, 

So meek, so timid, afraid to stir 

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet 

Should crush her down in the slippery street. 

53 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


At last came one of the merry troop, 

The gayest laddie of all the group ; 

He paused beside her and whispered low, 

“ I’ll help you across if you wish to go.” 

Her aged hand on his strong young arm 
She placed, and so without hurt or harm. 

He guided the trembling feet along, 

Proud that his own were firm and strong. 

And back to his gay young friends he went. 

His young heart happy and well content. 

‘ ‘ She is somebody’s mother, boys, you know, 
For all she’s aged and poor and slow. 

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand 
To help my mother, you understand. 

If ever she’s poor and old and gray 
When her own dear boy is far away.” 

And somebody’s mother bowed low her head 
In her room that night, and the prayer she said 
Was : “God be kind to the noble boy 
Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy.” 


Yes, such a little fellow you, too, young 
friends, will consider a pride and a joy to 
any mother. And yet the distinction is 
within the grasp of every one of you. 

They tell me this little nobleman grew up 
to be a great and gallant soldier, beloved by 
all. That is easy, however, to fathom, for 
as a lad he was great and gallant, and they 
boy is father to the man.” 

In your Bible-histories, you will read how 
some wicked children one day laughed to 
scorn an old man as he went into a wilder- 
ness to pray. By a hidden power he called 
54 


THE GALLANT YOUNG BARD. 


from the dense forest some bloodthirsty 
bears. These rushed madly at the foolish 
children and soon tore them to pieces. 

I really feel sorry for these children when- 
ever I read of their untimely ending. I am 
impressed, too, more and more with the 
thought ; — how displeasing to God must be 
the sin of disrespect when He would mete 
out such a fearful punishment for its com- 
mission. 

I know very well, little friends, that none 
of y6u ever wilfully wound the feelings of 
the aged by any positive act. However, to 
make the idea more impressive, consider 
what will be said to the imruly child on 
^Judgment-day when Christ shall say : You 

beheld me old and feeble and you scorned 
me.” In surprise, the wicked soul shall say 
When, Lord, did I behold Thee old and 
feeble and revile Thee ? ” Then will He 
say, As often as you did it to the least of 
My brethren, you did it to Me.” 

I shudder to finish the sentence he will 
then pronounce. So, now, you little folks, 
always be on the alert to aid the enfeebled 
and treat them kindly. Those fainting old 
hearts will beat in gratitude to you, and 
those lips will bless you, and there is much 
indeed in the blessing of the aged. 


55 


ms, tbe ©oblfn. 

EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE. 

In olden times when bonnins drank wine 
and fishes could fly as well as swim, there 
lived in a woods many leagues away, a band 
of rascally gobhns. They were the queerest 
little men ever known, so I read in a musty 
tome. They never slept, — for then, so the 
tome stated, there was no night and the sun 
never went down, except now and then, to 
slake his thirst. A serious thought never 
lurked in the silly heads of the tiny brown 
men. For,” said they, “ life is one long 
play-day ; ” just as many of you little folks 
think to-day. 

Well, now, although I have called these 
frivolous chaps silly, I will make one excep- 
tion. There lived in the camp, the old 
goblin doctor. He wore golden specks and 
a long heard flowed from his chin. There- 
fore, he must have been learned and sensible. 
I am, perhaps, the only visitor from the outer 
world who was ever admitted into the gob- 
lins’ camp. Thus I am enabled to tell you 
one of these happenings. 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


On this particular day of my visit, the old 
doctor seemed much disturbed in mind. He 
kept muttering the same thing over and 
over, as he stirred a huge caldron. But 
of course, I could not be expected to under- 
stand his jargon. At last, I heard a noise 
of hurried steps on the green sward. I 
turned quickly, and I beheld a hundred or 
more of these queer little hunters come 
racing toward their rude castle, like a lot of 
young hares. As they drew near, they 
laughed loud and long. 

Presently, there came a stillness on them 
all, and I could see that their features had 
taken on a serious cast. One and all stood 
on tiptoe and craned their necks. At last, 
the young minstrel of the band, who carried 
a small harp, spoke out : Doctor, I see you 
are mixing herbs. Pray, who amongst our 
brothers is sick ? ” he asked cautiously. 

Ah ! good brothers, sit ye down until I 
unravel my story, for my heart is sore in- 
deed,” sighed the old doctor. 

As he spoke, every shaggy little head was 
bent in attention. News most depressing 
I have to tell you,” he began. You re- 
member how some months ago, your valiant 
brother. Vis, growing weary of a goblin’s 
life and taking umbrage at my chiding, 
wandered over the mountain pass, vowing 
57 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


never to set eyes on me again. I then shook 
my head and grinned with a doubting grin 
as I hailed good-bye ’’ to the poor strip- 
ling. I thought to see him return in a few 
hours the wiser of his folly, but no ! I often 
sighed as you sang, good brothers, thinking 
over the fate that might befall him. One 
month yesterday marked the day of his going 
away. 

A few hours ago, as I walked along the 
glen, I heard a sound of dismal moaning. I 
followed that sound. It led me to the 
mouth of a cavern. This did I enter, though 
it breathed out sickening odors. I crept 
cautiously along the wall to which there 
clung webs and moisture. At length, my 
foot struck something. I lit my torch. I 
looked down and there in the uncertain light, 
I beheld the form of our long-lost brother.” 

A sigh just here heaved from each little 
listener. ^^At first, he did not speak, but 
continued to moan and mumble. Falling on 
my knees, I peered into his stupid face. ‘ O 
brother ! you are lying dazed in an awful 
den,’ said I. ^ The odors are heavy and in- 
sects eat into your skin.’ He now raised his 
head feebly, yet a callous smile played on 
his face. ‘ I feel no insects, nor do I per- 
ceive any sores on my face,’ he whimpered. 
‘ I do not fathom why you call this place un- 
58 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


clean. I have lived in it through a month. 
Still I feel no uneasiness.’ This he said, 
sinking back into his stupor. 

“ Saying to myself, ^ I cannot as your friend, 
see you imprison yourself in sO foul a place,’ 
I madly rushed out. I seized a huge boulder. 
This I hurled with all my might against the 
roof of the cave. I rent a hole many feet in 
width, my brothers. Instantly, the fresh 
sunlight pierced into the corners of the cave. 
This being done, I again darted into the un- 
clean hole. 

Vis was now standing erect with his hand 
raised to his eyes to shield off the blinding 
light. ‘ 0, what a filthy place ! ’ he gasped, 
‘ I have been dwelling in the house of death 
and knew it not. O, take me to a place of 
cleanliness and light,’ he pleaded, kissing 
my hand. ^ Heal me of my deformity.’ 
As he bid me, so did I.” And here the old 
doctor pushed aside a bough and disclosed 
poor Vis, lying wan and worn, on a couch. 

As his happy comrades sprang to wish 
him a welcome home, he sighed again, O 
brothers, I dwelt in darkness and knew it 
not.” I have since heard that Vis is restored 
to his former comeliness. 

If poor Vis were the only one who wan- 
dered into an unclean cave and grew numb 
to his surroundings, I would not mind it. 

59 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


But alas ! there are many who dwell in the 
cave of sin and seem unaware of their peril. 

What I want to impress upon your minds, 
little friends, by this story, is the necessity 
of frequently looking into your consciences, 
lest you be dozing unwittingly in the gloom 
of sin. Don’t let the tempter fool you into 
any cave wherein the sunlight of God’s grace 
cannot gleam, and then make you believe 
that you are in no danger. 

While it is a rare case with young folks, 
it does sometimes occur, that they will skip 
away into some bypath of sin as Vis did. 
The tempter in his cunning, leads them by 
smooth paths into darker recesses. Thier 
spiritual sense at length becomes used to the 
unclean surroundings. All the while, the 
sunlight of God’s grace is shut out, then it 
is easy for the ulcers of sin to grow unob- 
served. 

I have often seen a railroad engineer, 
looking carefully with a light into every 
nook and crevice of his steed of steel, to 
make sure that all the parts were clean and 
in smooth working order before he would 
start out on a long and rapid run over the 
rails. 

Have you the same sense of diligence, my 
young friends, in examining the delicate 
workings of your souls, now and then ? Do 
60 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


you make sure that each night, ere you pass 
through the dark and uncertain tunnel of 
slumber, that your spiritual machinery, your 
conscience, is bright and clean of the soil of 
sin ? Alas, should a wreck occur while you 
pass through that still and mysterious 
passage, should the icy hand of death stop 
the pulsings of your little hearts, would the 
All-seeing Judge be pleased with the con- 
dition of your souls ? Reflect and answer to 
yourselves. 

In another story somewhere in this book I 
have urged you to be more caring for the 
health of your soul than for that of your 
body. Yet I know that if you felt the 
slightest warning of sickness, you would run 
to the doctor and let him examine you, lest 
some dreaded disease steal in and take you 
away. Now I am sorry for your poor, little 
souls. They are not treated fairly. How 
often does the germ of sin lurk therein and 
endanger their precious life ! Do you stop to 
examine the trouble ? Do you hasten to the 
Physician of your soul and unburden your 
symptoms to Him ? If not, you are unfair. 

Particularly must you look into the nooks 
and crannies of your hearts, little friends, as 
you stand on the threshold of the confession- 
al. Let there come from your souls the prayer 
of Bartemeus, the blind man, who yearned 
61 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


for sight as he pleaded, 0 Lord, that I may 
see.’’ 

So must your prayer be, 0 Spirit of 
Light, show me wherein I have sinned. 
Eeveal to me the enormity of my falls.” 
Then the light of grace will throw its bril- 
liancy about you, just as the sun shone into 
the cave as poor Vis stood in the midst of 
gloom and squalor. Then, like him, too, you 
will long for a place of cleanliness and light 
and that place, as you know, is within the 
zone of God’s grace. 

When I was a very small boy, the tinkling 
of a tiny bell tempted me to wander into a 
candy store. A kind face beamed on me 
over the shining case, Madam,” I queried 
as politely as I could, what is that machine 
for on which the bell tinkles ? ” A pleasant 
smile now assured me that I was to be gently 
received, for the lady unfolded to me by 
actual demonstrating, the purpose of the 
wonder-box. 

This is a cash-register ! See ! ” She 
laughed as she pressed a button and the bell 
tinkled. At night,” she went on, when- 
ever business is ended, I can tell on the 
moment what gain I have made through the 
day.” 0, thank you,” said I, walking 
away with a new thought in my little noddle, 
and a lump of candy pressed into my hand. 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


Since then my memory has often led me to 
that candy shop. Since then, too, I have 
thought what a good example cash registers 
set for little folks. 

Can you, at nightfall, Httle friends, tell 
just what good or evil you have done during 
the day? I fear you cannot. Still, you 
carry about in your hearts a tiny mechanism 
as accurate and as retentive as any cash 
register. I used to wonder why men in 
large business houses would now and then, 
set up ever so late at night. I have seen 
them write and figure so far into the night 
that I felt sorry for them. 

Why do they work so steadily and so un- 
tiringly ? I know now ! Because they ex- 
pect that an account will be called for in a 
day or so, and they wish to have every detail 
correct. 

You, little friends, are all bookkeepers. 
You have some very important accounts to 
settle with your Lord and Master. He has 
given you some afPairs to see to, some goods 
of which you are but the stewards ; you have 
some commands to obey, some counsels to 
carry out. How are you conducting that 
business ? Like the merchant with the 
clerks, Christ will come, as He says, perhaps 
like a thief in the night, and demand an ac- 
count of your stewardship. For, He will 
63 


VIS, THE GOBLIN. 


then say, You can be steward no longer.” 
I hope you will not grow confused when the 
question is put to you. 

0 yes, children, examine your consciences 
frequently. Look over your spiritual alfairs 
now and then. If you find you owe your Lord 
something, pay Him right away or afc least, 
give Him a note of promise. That will be, 
as you may guess, a fervent act of contri- 
tion. 


64 : 


trbe lEruantslIMaser. 

HOW TO SPEND THE SUNDAY. 

Oh ! how nice it is to lie here, stretched 
out on the green grass, to whisper little love- 
words to the flowers, and have them nod to 
you ; to say little nothings to the crickets, 
just to tease them.” So mused little curly- 
haired Teddy, the scamp of the village, as 
he rolled himself one morning under the 
brawny arms of a kindly old tree. On the 
moistened air there came to him the echoes 
of chimes ringing far away. Little by little, 
he seemed lulled asleep by the sweetness and 
quiet about him. If he had suddenly been 
snatched away into dreamland, of which he 
had read in the story-books, he could not 
have been more pleased. 

After a time a soft music began to fill his 
soul. It came from a little bird that was 
swaying to and fro on a rosebush close by. 

My ! what a charming singer you are, my 
little pet,” said the young chap. And, as 
though the bird had caught his meaning, it 
came closer and sang more sweetly than be- 
fore, all the while pointing its head heaven- 
ward. 


65 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


How tame you are/’ said Teddy, reach- 
ing out his hand in an effort to caress it, 
but the timid little songster darted away 
over the hills and was seen no more. Oh ! 
sweet little thing,” the lad sighed, I am so 
sorry you have gone.” 

Dear me ! what a queer creature you 
are,” now said Teddy with a squint of his 
face, and what a horrid song you sing,” as 
on a twig above him a locust began its deaf- 
ening noise. 0, that is awful ! I must 
run away,” he said impatiently, jumping up 
and holding his fingers to his ears. This is 
surely not singing,” and so he trotted across 
the fields until he came to the edge of a 
sleeping green pond. Just then he heard a 
splashing noise. Looking down, he saw a 
bright green frog perched on a slimy stone. 
It looked wonderingly at the little boy and 
it seemed to say, My young stranger, 
listen to my funny lay, you may like it.” 
And so it began a croaking gurgle, at which 
Teddy had to smile. 

The poor frog, seeming to know that its 
voice was being laughed at, suddenly 
stopped. Now, isn’t it queer,” groaned 
Teddy, every creature I have met this 
morning began to sing in its own way. I 
wonder why it is. 0, Mr. Frog, if you 
could only talk I am sure you could tell me 
66 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


the secret of all this joy this morning/’ said 
Teddy, pleadingly. Why, I can talk,” 
the frog replied, standing proudly on his hind 
legs. The lad’s eyes opened very wide at 
this. Tell me, then,” said he, Why do 
all you dwellers in this merry land seem so 
happy this morning ? ” ‘‘ Listen, I will tell 

you,” answered the frog. 

‘‘ The Good Lord created birds and 
locusts and frogs, as He did little boys, for 
a purpose. That purpose, we think, is to 
praise and serve Him as we can. You give 
Him homage by prayer, by going to Devo- 
tions on Sunday.” At this Teddy’s heart 
gave a jump, for it was Sunday morning 
and even now he was playing truant from 
Mass. 

Hello ! who is this coming along ? I 
must swim away,” said the frog as he dove 
into the water, leaving the boy standing be- 
wildered on the bank. He heard the echo 
of a soft voice coming closer to him each 
moment. He looked about and saw ap- 
proaching a little girl still younger than he. 
She was returning from Mass, humming as 
she moved along the hymn she had heard 
that morning. She was smiling too, and her 
face seemed to reflect the purity of her little 
heart. Say, my little friend,” said Teddy, 
calling loudly to her, come here, I want to 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


speak to you.” The young stranger came 
timidly over to him. Solve this riddle for 
me,” said the lad. Every creature I have 
met this morning has begun to sing at sight 
of me. Is it because they are pleased to see 
me, do you think?” ^^No, surely that is 
not the reason,” said the little maiden with 
a twinkle of the eye ; “ it is this, I really be- 
lieve — this is God’s day. Sunday, you know, 
is the day on which He especially wants our 
hearts for Himself. Perhaps, you have even 
heard the birds this morning singing, to 
make the heavens glad ? ” ^^0 yes, I have,” 
Teddy stammered out in a confused way. 

Well, so it is,” continued the girl, All 
creatures come from God. They belong to 
God and are destined for God, and to-day. 
He claims the homage of their souls.” As 
the little lady finished speaking, she strode 
quietly away. Teddy stood with his hands in 
his pockets, looking into the ground. He 
was lost in thought. At last, a buzzing bee 
woke him from his reverie. He heaved a 
sigh and pointing to himself said, Here is 
one of God’s creatures whose voice is not 
joined in the chorus of praise to-day.” lam 
ashamed to confess that a girl, and a bird, 
and a frog, could be devo liter than I. 

Hark, the chimes are ringing. It is the 
‘Angelus.’ It is too late now to trip ofiE 
68 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


to Mass. I will kneel here on the green 
grass amongst the flowers and tell Our 
Blessed Lord than I am sorry. I shall never 
miss Mass again.’’ 

Poor Teddy was not so bad a boy after 
all, for he grieved over his neglect and vowed 
to he a loyal little soldier in the future. 
Since Teddy’s time, I have not met another 
little boy who knowingly absented himself 
from Mass, and I hope I never will. It is 
certainly quite humiliating for any boy to 
have a bird or frog tell him of his duty to 
his Lord. 

Neither do I know a single boy, amongst 
all my little friends, who is possessed of a 
stingy disposition. Boys are usually open- 
hearted and generous to their companions. 
I must state here, however, against my will, 
that I have heard of a few who are mean to 
Our Good Lord. Let us see in what manner. 
This Heavenly Lord has given to His chil- 
dren six days out of the seven on which 
they may play and romp about. He asks 
the simple favor, Give me,” He says, the 
whole of your minds and hearts on Sundays. 
Come to My Mansion at least for a half 
hour during the day. I have many good 
things I would give you.” Yet, in face of 
all this sweet generosity, there are those who 
will listen to this loving call with cold indif- 
69 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


ference and remain away from the Feast 
of Love.’’ 

I tremble when I hear of a child neglect- 
ing to hear Mass on Sunday. It recalls to 
me a story Our Lord Himself tells. A king, 
he said, once prepared a sumptuous feast. 
He sent out his courtiers to call in all the 
children of the village, rich and poor alike. 
After a time the courtiers returned, and 
what think you they had to report to the 
King? ‘^Your Majesty,” said they, of 
those whom we urged to attend, one and all 
gave an excuse and begged saying, Pray, 
hold us excused.” 

The King then, just as you might sup- 
pose, grew angry at those ingrates. But out 
aofain did He send His courtiers. Go into 
the lanes and bypaths,” quoth He, “ and 
bring in the very poor and blind and lame 
for I must see my banquet-hall filled.” 
As he ordained, so did the courtiers, and ere 
they went. He spoke these memorable words : 

I tell you that none of those who refused 
My invitation shall ever enter this banquet- 
hall.” That night, so it is said, a fearful 
storm swept across the plains, and those who 
had been unwise were carried into darkness, 
nor were they seen again. 

You, my little friends, are invited each 
Sunday to a Feast of Grace by heavenly 
70 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


messengers. Be not so unthinking then as 
were the children of the parable and tarry 
away from that Feast, lest the storm of God’s 
displeasure break over you and you be 
finally cast into exterior darkness. 

Do you know I sometimes think that if 
there were a Heaven for the tiny birds, how 
few would fail to enter there. They never 
miss their service of song in the morning 
be the weather fair or stormy. This good 
word, I fear, cannot be said of many a child. 

The moments of Mass-time are, forsooth, 
the most precious of the whole week. In 
that short space, your Best Friend sits en- 
throned with His heart burning with a desire 
to show His love for you, and with His hands 
laden with the most costly pearls of His grace. 
How wounded He must feel then, when 
any of His little favorites slights Him ! 

My little friends, you cannot go through 
the week of trial and temptation preserving 
your pearl of grace unless the hand of Your 
Saviour be laid on your heads in blessing on 
Sundays, just as He used to bless His Little 
Lovers ” in the long ago, when they ran to 
meet Him on the hillsides of Judea. He 
loved the company of his little friends then as 
He does still. But the little friends, you see, 
are not nowadays as loyal as those of long 
ago. 


71 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


Most of you have seen a battle-ship, I know. 
Did you observe with what power it dashes 
into the waves ? It seems to fear nothing, as 
it tosses the white spray from its prow. 
Supposing, now, that it failed to stop in 
port every seven or eight days and take 
on a new supply of fuel, how helplessly it 
would at length be pitched about on the 
waves ! So you, little battle-cruisers of Christ, 
cannot expect to sail many days through the 
maddened torrents of temptation unless you 
steer into, the port of Grace on Sundays, at 
least, and receive a new supply of spiritual 
fuel. 

I intended to claim your attention a while 
longer by telling you a good method to as- 
sist at Mass, but all this I presume you know 
already. I will conclude, therefore, by tell- 
ing you a tale of a little lad of Normandy. 
He was wont to sail miles across the waters 
to be present at Mass. 0 how devout he 
was ! Daybreak scarcely came before he 
would be steering his little bark toward the 
Isle de Marie, whereon the pretty chapel of 
Notre Dame stood. 

With tears of joy, he knelt through the 
Sacred Mysteries. 

He received his Lord with the fervor of 
a little saint, and when his thanksgiving was 
over, he would linger a while by the railing 
72 


THE TRUANT-PLAYER. 


as though it pained him to say good-bye. 
When the chimes finally tolled the hour 
of departure, he would throw a kiss of fare- 
well, so I am told, toward the tabernacle 
door and sigh, ^‘Good-bye, Lord, but only 
for a little while. Sunday will soon be here 
again. Then I will come back again to see 
you once more,” and so he would gently with- 
draw. As his trusty httle craft bounded 
homeward he timed the stroke of his oar to 
his favorite hymn, and his soul was happy. 

How many of you, little folks, have the 
zeal of that good Normandy hoy ? Now, 
should you, through some little ache or pain, 
be prevented from going to Mass, think at 
least of your Dear Lord as you say to 
Him 


If I but had two little wings 
And were a little feathery bird, 

To Thee I’d fly, Lord Dear. 

But now I know this cannot be 
So I stay at home and think of Thee. 


73 


Ube jFlamingo anb tbe Storb. 


BE KIND TO THE DEFORMED. 

It would be better if I should not tell you, 
little friends, whence I gleaned the facts of 
the tale I tell yon in this chapter. For I 
feel that, once knowing this, you will be 
prone to doubt what it relates. But do you 
not be so slow of belief as older folks. They 
may smile as they read these lines and say that 
history bears no record of what I tell you. 
But never mind, there are many queer hap- 
penings and little comedies that are enacted 
close by us each day, the note of which his- 
tory will never contain. 1 speak in this way 
so that you may the more readily believe 
what these pages will reveal to you. For, 
while it is most peculiar, you may rest as- 
sured that it is quite true. For it was told 
me by a little mouse who stole into my room 
one day ; and mice, as you know, are never 
known to be untruthful. 

Many decades ago,” he began, in a 
squeaky voice, ^Hhere lived an old eagle, 
who, having been elected king of Birddom, 
felt very proud, as you may suppose. And 
74 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


as most successful candidates do, he wished 
to let the world know of his unbounded joy. 
So he called his confidant, Mr. Kook, to him- 
seK on the morrow, and bade him fly over 
the mountain and invite the near-by Prince 
Sato-San to the royal banquet. He gave 
orders, also to his chef, Mr. Robin, to spare 
no expense in preparing a gorgeous fete. 
Mr. Kook bowed very low in acknowledg- 
ment of the courtesy paid him as royal mes- 
senger and said : 

^ Your Highness, everything is in readi- 
ness for the banquet. But your guest of 
honor does not appear.’ ^Yes, his delay 
piques me very much,’ said his royalty. 
^ Call hither my soothsayers and let them 
riddle to me what the trouble may be.’ A 
little bell tinkled and in came a pair of silly- 
looking prairie-hens. They appeared dazed 
but I guess they knew things, for they wore 
monocles and talked in a drawling tone. 
They deftly unrolled large parchments and 
began to read some quaint figures when, 
suddenly, without any apology, Mr. Kook 
began to go through a series of weird gyra- 
tions as though some one had stuck a pin in 
him. ‘ Behold, I see him now, soaring over 
the mountain astride a stork,’ he cackled. 
And so he flew about as though trying to 
speak to every one at once. His nervousness 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


was contagious, for all seemed to be flurried. 
Sure as you live, it was as lie had spoken. 

The entire bird assembly craned their 
necks to behold Prince Sato-San poised grace- 
fully in mid-air on the back of a huge stork. 
Softly as a snowflake, did the royal carrier 
descend, until he stood before the throne of 
his sire. King Eagle. The Prince now 
alighted, and bowing so low that his crown 
toppled off, said, as all monarchs do in meet- 
ing kindred royalty, ^ T am charmed to 
meet you.’ Then turning to the birds of 
ordinary rank, he assured them that he 
would be pleased to listen to their songs and 
words of welcome. After these courtesies 
had been conformed to, the Prince was 
ushered to the throne prepared for him be- 
side his Majesty. And as he strutted, two 
dainty little snow-birds held up his silken 
mantle. 

Old King Eagle now stood, and saddling 
his glasses upon his beak, for he was dim 
of sight, he read a program of the festival 
that was to follow. He was interrupted, 
however, time and again, in his remarks, by 
the cackle and laughter of two young flam- 
ingoes, whose conduct was scandalous. Now 
what think you they were doing? They 
were ever and anon making grimaces 
at the Prince’s carrier, Mr. Stork. ^ What 
76 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


an ugly face he has/ said one. ^ What 
skinny limbs, too,^ rejoined the other. ^ He’s 
a stuffed bird,’ was a piece of repartee. 
And so they tittered in derision at the old 
stork, who stood off on one leg unconscious 
of all the fun that was being leveled at 
him. All this while, do you know, I could 
see an ominous change creeping over the 
eagle’s face,” said the mouse in a new tone. 

I suppose so,” I answered. 

0 yes ! At length putting aside his 
glasses and scroll, the old king blurted out 
upon the unruly pair, the bitterest scolding 
that was ever heard. The Prince, until now 
ignorant of the cause of the turmoil, flew 
into a rage when he learned that his old 
servant was being treated with such con- 
tempt. 

‘‘ ‘ This shall end all gaiety to-day,’ shouted 
he, stamping his jeweled foot upon the 
ground. The old stork now fixed his gaze 
upon his gallant master as though trying to 
divine the cause of his sudden change of 
humor. ^ Come ye here before me,’ the 
Prince called, drawing as he spoke a sword 
of gold from its scabbard ! My ! how nervous 
those flamingoes now grew, but they bowed 
to his behest. ^ You are comely creatures 
now and beautiful of color,’ he said in sharp 
tones. ^ Because of those personal endow- 
77 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


merits, you are conceited and look down upon 
those who are less fortunate. That is base 
and despicable/ King Eagle nodded his 
agreement. ^ You make sport of the old 
stork’s ugly figure, but of all birds, he is 
most faithful to his master. Now, in penalty 
for your want of feeling, I will cast the 
blight of crookedness upon you.’ So saying, 
the Prince raised his sword aloft, uttering 
as he did, soihe unheard-of words that hailed, 
I suppose, from Japan. On the instant, the 
flamingoes began to tumble and coil in funny 
twists, at which every one roared in laughter. 
Their short, well-proportioned limbs grew 
long and bony. Their necks of graceful 
curve stretched until I thought they would 
break. The cuckoo called out some word 
just then that I could not quite catch. Their 
wings became dwarfed so that they flew 
only in fitful jumps. — Wouldn’t that make 
you sad ? ” said the mouse. 0 yes ! ” I 
sighed. 

The poor afflicted birds wept forsooth and 
pleaded for their former grace, but the Prince 
was resolute. And as he was borne away on 
the back of the stork, he said to those of 
twisted form : ^ You and your posterity shall 
ever be as you are now.’ And so it is, 
even in our day, the flamingo is a very ill- 
proportioned bird, but as far as I am con- 
78 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


cerned, I think it serves them right. Don’t 
you?” 

Now, little friends, as you listened to the 
foregone tale, you perhaps mused to your- 
selves how heartless it was of the flamingoes, 
being comely themselves, to scorn one of their 
kindred birds less gifted. Yes, I feel you 
will not worry over the flamingoes’ mishap. 
My ! but how great a crime the Prince rated 
their conduct when he decreed that to the 
end of ages, flamingoes should ever be de- 
barred from the entries to beauty-shows ! 

We would not feel at all alarmed, my little 
listeners, if this base practise of taunting 
others on account of their deformities, were 
confined to flamingoes and other unruly 
birds. But it isn’t. You know as well as 
I, that many bad boys and girls resort to just 
such an unfeeling pastime. You know how 
often it happens, that amongst your compan- 
ions there are some upon whom affliction of 
face or limb has come. Naturally, you would 
think that at least young Christians would 
have a tender spot in their hearts for those 
of their little friends who have been blighted. 
But the very opposite is oftentimes true, I 
am pained to say. 

Let us take, for example, one of your little 
chums who is very lame, so that he cannot 
skip about, and romp in the games that you 
79 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


SO much enjoy. How sad his little heart 
must he ! All the while he sees your young 
faces lit up with glee, his own poor heart is 
like a stone in his breast. So the day 
passes, but it metes out no gladness for 
him. 

At home, you dance about beneath the 
sacred smiles of your good parents as lithely 
as kittens. 

He moves about with pain, and slowly. 
Then the weight of his affections comes 
back to him more sharply than ever as there 
echo in his ear the unkind remarks, that 
some one of his playmates passed on him 
through the day. Yes, it is only perhaps, 
when his sobs have been quieted by slumber 
that his aching little heart finds rest. And 
often I suppose his angel guardian comforts 
him as with gentle hand the tears are wiped 
away and a comforting word is whispered. 

0 little friends, to those of you who are 
wont to call harsh names to your unequal 
little brethren, 1 say, Beware! Your 
Saviour’s displeasure will come upon you, ere 
many days go by. Ho you know, I feel 
somewhat ashamed that I must bid you turn 
to the sparrows again to learn the lesson I 
fain would have you know. When one of 
their number falls wounded or bruised by 
the wayside, do you think its little brothers 
80 


the flamingo and the stork. 


stand afar off on some bough and titter at 
the cripple ? No indeed ! They fly on the 
instant to his aid, help him tenderl}^ to their 
nests and try to comfort him in their sweet 
little methods. And be he after that, lack- 
ing in an eye or a foot, he is held in the 
greater endearment, and is made to receive 
the sweeter caresses. That this is true, you 
will admit as well as I. 

When you mock the deformed, little 
friends, you by that fact withdraw your- 
selves from that blessed circle of tots whom 
Jesus loves. He Himself has given us a 
test, by which His young followers can be 
picked out. 

‘‘ By this shall all men know that you are 
My disciples, that you have charity one for 
another.” You plainly see, then, that when 
you fail to show mercy and kindness to one 
of your sorrowing playmates, you forfeit all 
claim to the title Little friend of J esus.” 

Boys and girls of boorish manner who 
make a practise of taunting their crippled 
little friends, act verily as did the cruel Jews 
who mocked Our Saviour in the hour of His 
agony. They tied those bleeding hands, 
worn with deeds of mercy, to a stone pillar. 
They disfigured his comely body by burn- 
ing scourges. When the sweetness of His 
face was hidden in trickles of blood, they 
6 81 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


could say, yes, verily. He was disfigured. 
His beauty had departed. Then it was that 
they, the fiendish rabble, stood by and 
mocked Him in scorn. 0 little friends ! it 
is enough if I say that when you sadden the 
soul of an unfortunate, you sadden the soul 
also of your Master. 

How your hearts are gladdened when you 
read the lives of those Christian children in 
the ages gone by ! What touching examples 
they were to their young pagan friends of 
every virtue, but particularly of charity and 
gentleness to all ! When they beheld any- 
one clad in tatters or maimed in feature or 
halt of limb, they would pause just there on 
the wayside, say a few sweet words of solace, 
and with eyes bedewed, stoop and kiss the 
brow of those saddened ones, because,’^ 
said they, these are the beloved of Christ. 
His passion is continued in them.” 

How does your mode of action compare 
with that of your little brothers of long ago ? 
Whisper the answer to Jesus, He awaits to 
hear it. Now, I have finished my scolding 
to you, little friends. I agree that to most 
of you it does not apply. But to whom it 
may, I say : 

“ Speak no ill, but lenient be 
To others’ feelings as your own ; 

If you’re the first defects to see 
82 


THE FLAMINGO AND THE STORK. 


Be not the first to make them known. 
For life is but a passing day, 

No lips can tell how short its space ; 
Then, O ! the little time we stay 
Let’s speak of all the best we can.” 


83 


Ube Elves anb tbc dragon. 


THE ROSARY. 

I AM glad to tell you this story, little 
friends, because not another soul save an old 
hermit and myself know it. So you see, no 
one can dispute it or say it happened this way 
or that. 

I was seated one morning on a huge stone 
and looking out into the sea. I know not what 
were my thoughts exactly. Perhaps I was 
musing how it was the restless waves could 
throw themselves into such fantastic shapes 
and then dash so roughly against the rock 
on which I sat without hurting themselves. 
I suspect they laughed at me, I sat so long 
and looked so dreamy. After a time, I felt 
the rock beneath me move slightly as though 
it were trembling. I turned quickly and lo ! 
two big eyes peered into mine. I cannot 
say why, but I was not afraid, because there 
was something tender in that gaze that 
instantly soothed all my fears. 

It was an old hermit of the woods who 
softly drew close to me. Reaching out his 
hard, scaly hand, he took mine and stroking 
84 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


it with assurance said, Stranger, I am 
glad that you have come to break the gloom 
of my solitude. I want to tell you my 
sorry tale. Will you listen to it ? ’’ I 
pledged him that I would. 

Well ! ” he sighed, I am lonesome for 
my little elves.’’ What, you, an old her- 
mit, lonesome for little elves ? said I. Yes,” 
he answered, lowering his head and squeez- 
ing my hand like a vice. My past years 
were very, very happy. I dwelt here apart 
from a fevered and restless world. My soul 
was made merry by the company of a band of 
sprightly elves who came to me, I know not 
whence, and ministered to my wants as 
though I were their father. ‘‘ My ! but they 
were frisky little chaps,” continued the old 
man, with a ripple of laughter. I would sit 
by the hour, do you know, and watch them 
frolic on the green, then I would laugh 
until my sides would ache.” 

He now turned his head as though to look 
afar. I followed his gaze and I could see 
that it centered on a cluster of tombstones, 
over which the strong arms of an oak spread 
as though to guard them. W ell,” he went 
on, tossing his head aright and gripping my 
hand as though he knew I felt for him, 
‘‘ the little fellows came to me one morning 
bright and early, and said they, ^ Grandpop,’ 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


for they ever addressed me thus. ^ We are 
going off into the forest to-day. Be watchful, 
for us, for we have planned to hunt to the 
death that cruel dragon into whose bloody 
claws so many gnomes and fairies have fallen.’ 

Come here, you brainless little sprites,” 
said I. Beware of trying to conquer that 
wily old beast, unless you hang about your 
necks those precious amulets I gave you. 
You know how they can keep aloof all harm. 
— I suppose you know what an amulet is ? ” 
said he, turning his face full into mine. I 
assured him I did. 

“Well,” he went on, “ do you know they 
laughed me to scorn, and the merry echoes 
rippled far into the forest. ^ W e have no fear,’ 
said they. I blessed them. So off they 
scampered with their little bows and arrows 
strapped over their shoulders. And strange 
to tell, an unearthly voice then whispered, 
^ Some evil is to befall thy merry sprites to- 
day, grandfather.’ But I did not heed it, 
and so the day passed on. I sat beneath 
that yew tree and looked out upon the waters, 
watching them heave and roll, as we do now. 

“ Soon the warm scented summer air lulled 
me to sleep. I must have slumbered very long, 
for I awoke with a chill. I looked about 
me. It was dark and the old Sun, with his 
face all aglow, was just sinking behind the 
80 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


mountain and taking a last peep at me.” Just 
here the waves began to rumble and splash 
with a great noise, as though to interrupt the 
tale of the old man. But he spoke on un- 
heedful of it all. Evening grew into night. 
I began to fear then for the safety of my little 
elves. I took my bugle in hand and blew 
with all my might, but no answer came, and 
the tall trees rocked to and fro as though 
stirred by some mighty emotion. 

As I strained my eyes in every direction, 
I saw a mite of a figure running toward me 
with all haste. It was Sapiens, one of the 
elves. ^ Oh ! a terrible fate has come upon 
my brothers,” he wailed, throwing his arms 
around me. ‘ You recall how I alone took 
my amulet with me into the woodland. 
They did not. The dragon has overpowered 
them and torn them to pieces. He seemed 
unable to harm me. Why, I know not.’ ” 
The old man here grew silent for a moment, 
then taking up the thread of his story, he 
said, I grasped my trusty sword and bid- 
ding Sapiens show me the path, I began to 
wend my way to the scene of the sad event. 
Everything about us seemed to feel for us. 
The leaves seemed pensive and quiet upon 
the boughs. It struck me that they were 
weeping. The night winds, too, sighed 
through the tree-tops. 

87 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


You are hearkening’, are you not, to my 
story ? ’’ said the old man here, as if to assure 
himself of my sincerity. Indeed, I am,” 
said I ; speak on.” Then his voice grew 
more virile and he stood to describe the 
remainder of the doleful drama. 

After moping an hour through hedge and 
thicket. Sapiens clutched my arm convul- 
sively. ^ There, grandfather, see them,’ he 
whispered in panting breath. Sure as he 
spoke the ghastly sight lay before me. The 
moon now came and threw her soft light 
around us as a mantle. There I saw vividly 
the young faces rent and mangled by the 
dragon’s claws. 

The old man’s words now lowered in sweet 
cadence again and they tremored. We 
bore them gently home,” he sighed, and 
on yonder hill do they rest. Only yester- 
day did Sapiens pass away and now I am 
alone.” 

Strange enough, he now began to walk 
away from me with his face buried in his 
brawny hands. And the last words I heard 
him murmur were, 0, if they had only kept 
their amulets by them, all this would never 
have happened ! ” But then I drew away. 
I do not like to hear one weeping, for it 
makes me weep too. 

Poor old man ! If I knew where to find 
88 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


him, I would run now to comfort him, but I 
rather think, by this time, he is sleeping be- 
side his little elves. If no one else were 
nigh, the angels must have come and laid 
him to rest, for he was a good old man. 

Now, little friends, when I dwell on the 
facts of this tale, I struggle to keep back 
the conviction that rushes on me, that there 
are many foolish little elves amongst my 
young companions, who go out into the 
forest of this world, unguarded at times by 
any spiritual amulet whatsoever, knowing all 
the while, as they must, that along every 
trail that courses through the woodland 
of life there are dragons lurking, just as 
vicious as that one which tore the graceful 
little limbs of the merry elves. Now I know 
as well as you, for I’ve been to school too, 
that there is a great variety of spiritual 
amulets which can sweetly beguile grace into 
your souls. But right here I am going to 
urge the use of one I love the best of all be- 
cause I blush not to tell you, it has saved me 
from the dragon oftentimes. I am speaking 
of you, sweet Rosary ! Yes, sweet little com- 
rade, 

“ For I have told you every grief 
In all the days of twenty years 
And in your decades found relief, 

As I have wet you with my tears.” 

89 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


Why, then, should I not speak gently, little 
friends, to you of this devotion, since I feel 
that its wondrous power has lifted me to 
conquer many temptations and whispered 
sweet syllables of hope as I faltered in re- 
morse along the wayside. You, dear little 
tots, stand now with your unstained fingers 
entwined about the bars of your little prison. 
You look without with young hearts panting 
to leap into the fray, but be assured by one 
who bears a few painful scars and some sad 
recollections of past defeats, that unless you 
walk out with the magic amulet of the 
Rosary pinned close to your hearts, you too 
will falter and be wounded as some of your 
elders have been. You must begin this day 
to realize that the Rosary must become part 
of your spiritual lives, if you would save 
your souls. You should love the Rosary. 
Why ? It tells the tale of Mary’s life, and 
she loves you. Above all it causes her to 
hold over you a mystic mantle of care, the 
very sight of which sends the demons 
trembling into hell. 

Now you may complain and say that, as 
yet, I have told you very little about the 
Rosary. That is true. But it is not my 
purpose in this talk to tell you all I can con- 
cerning this sweet devotion. I am going to 
ask your teachers to do that for me. I am 
90 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


simply trying to say one or two pious little 
things in the hope that you may be coaxed 
to come closer to Mary and sing to her on 
that tiny harp that so delights her soul. 

When you were very small children, just 
kids ’’ as the big boys would say, you romped 
about the house in play. Your sparkling 
little eyes, like so many cameras, look into 
everything. Don’t you remember in those 
fairy times how you saw the image of Christ 
crucified, hanging in your parent’s bed- 
chamber. And close by, you saw something 
else that then excited your wonder. You 
thought it was a necklace perhaps, till wiser 
lips destroyed your fancy and unfolded to 
you that it was the Rosary, the chaplet of 
Mary. Then again, after the loving arms of 
your mother had tucked you away in your 
little crib, you will recall as you looked 
through the uncertain light, how a sacred 
whisper fell softly upon your ears, and you 
peeked out just in time to see the beads 
move slowly through your mother’s fingers. 
Do you not know that all the while your 
name was being interwoven with those 
prayers ? Now a few fleeting years have 
rolled away and you owe it to her who loved 
you the best to lisp her name in grateful 
memory as the little pearly beads wander 
through your sinless hands. 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


Some years ago, little Mildred, a favorite 
of mine, having heard the story of Mary, 
sighed as she said : 0 how 1 would love 

to speak to her and tell her the little secrets 
of my heart. But alas ! there is no telephone 
reaching to Heaven, so what can I do?’’ 

0 yes, there is,” came an answer. J ust 
then the fairest little angel above the clouds 
came, and. placing a pearly rosary in Mil- 
dred’s hand whispered : There, now your 
gentle Mother will lend her ear to this 
’phone. Speak to her.” My little friend 
has told me since that not a day goes by 
that does not see a fervid child whispering 
sweet little secrets to Mary. And she vows 
that her gentle Mother answers her. Now I 
do not doubt the word of Mildred. Why 
should you ? 

1 fancy now I can see little lips pucker up 
and eyes grow big when I say that every 
child who wishes surely to be saved should 
recite the Eosary every day. 0, it is such 
a long prayer,” comes the plaint. Well, 
then, if you find it long, say part of it as 
you go tripping to the store on your errands 
or as you amble home from school. Here is 
another thought for you : In the history of 
the whole world, I don’t suppose it has ever 
been recorded that a little boy or girl needed 
medicine to bring on sleep at night. Usually 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


they sleep too much. Well now, listen. 
Should such a child in the course of years 
be found by scientists or others, let me tell 
you a means to cure his malady instantly. 
Put into those restless little fingers a Kosary, 
let the lips of the patient be sweetly urged 
to move in prayer. And I can assure you 
that not many ticks of the clock will have 
gone by before two wearied little eyes will 
have closed in peaceful rest and another 
little fairy be wafted in Baby’s Boat ” to 
Dreamland. 

Isn’t it funny how my thoughts insist like 
wilful little thieves in running back to the 
elves and the old man. As I think of them 
again, something seems to tell me that you, 
my little elves, will in later years be de- 
voured by the Dragon of Temptation if you 
do not carry with ybu, yes, to your dying 
hour, your amulet, the Rosary. 

Do this, then, and I will have nothing to 
worry me. You ask me. Do you. Father, al- 
ways make your beads your companion in 
your journey? Yes, honest, I do ! And 
when I can find no little chum to talk to, I 
whisper to my beads this tiny secret. 

“ Sweet little beads, I would not part 
With one of you for richest gem 
That gleams in kingly diadem ; 

You know the history of my heart. 

93 


THE ELVES AND THE DRAGON. 


You are the only charm I wear, 

A sign that I am but a slave 
In life, in death beyond the grave, 
Of Jesus and His Mother fair.” 


94 


TLbc Snow anJ) tbc ©wl’s Mis&om. 


WHAT SNOW-FLAKES TEACH. 

I NEVER knew before, that birds could be 
such little grumblers, until I chanced one 
day to hear the following talk between the 
two silly little sparrows and a wise old 
owl. It was winter time. The air was 
bitterly cold and through the morning the 
dancing snowflakes kept chasing one an- 
other through the trees and around an old 
stump, in a funny game known only to 
themselves, and they seemed to enjoy it. 

All the while two lonely brown sparrows, 
who had just been ejected from their homes 
in the eaves of an old barn, stood on a 
withered limb, and shivered and shook. 
They kept silent so long, I thought they 
must be asleep or frozen. But no; for 
after a moment the elder of the two fluttered 
the flakes from his flimsy wings angrily, and 
said, For the life of me I cannot under- 
stand of what use these pesky snowdrops 
are anyhow ! They are the most impudent 
little teasers I ever knew, they dart into 
every nook and cranny without any apology. 

95 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


They spread their icy mantle over the fields 
so that we poor beings can scarcely find a 
kernel of grain to eat. They fly into your 
face, then sweep away again, laughing as 
they go. Oh ! if I could annihilate them 
I would do so in a minute.” 

So spoke the first sparrow. His mate, 
looking very bitter, was about to begin to 
pour out the pent up feelings of his heart, 
when a cackling laugh caused him to startle. 
Looking up, the two little outcasts caught 
a glimpse of Mr. Owl. I must say it surprised 
me too, to see him out in broad daylight. 
However, there he was as big as life. 

Now they say that the Owl is the wisest 
of birds, whether this is because he sits up 
all night studying while others are sleeping, 
or whether it is that he has little to say, I 
cannot tell. At any rate, his reputation for 
wisdom is well known. 

Hobbling down to the limb on which the 
two little outcasts stood, Mr. Owl said. 
You surprise me, strange sirs, by your com- 
plaining at the frolic of the snow-flakes. Do 
you not know that they reflect the beauty 
and power of God as well as you?” 

Oh ! he is going to preach a sermon,” 
said the first sparrow, nudging his little 
brother.” No, no ! not at all,” rejoined Mr. 
Owl smiling at the inference, but I mean to 
96 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


exonerate these tiny snowflakes from the 
charge of being useless little things, if I 
can. 

“ Come here, some of you, my merry little 
things/’ called Mr. Owl. At his bidding a 
cloud of them swarmed about him just as 
tots hurry to one whom they love. My ! 
I didn’t think you were so pretty,” said the 
second sparrow, looking closely at one of the 
mites. Now, strange friends, did you ever 
before behold such sweet and delicately 
formed beings as these flakes are ? ” said Mr. 
Owl, just like a professor. See, no two of 
them are alike, some are shaped like stars, 
others resemble little fairy bells, whilst other 
some seem like delicately woven lace. Oh ! 
indeed they are beautiful,” continued Mr. 
Owl, each moment growing more fervid.” 

All this do we admit,” quoth the second 
sparrow very peevishly, but of what use are 
they, since they starve us poor sparrows to 
death, by hiding from us all the wheat and 
grain. This seemed to be an objection that 
made the old Owl wince. Just here, one of 
the larger flakes flurried up into the sparrows’ 
faces, and said, For you individually, sirs, 
we may work temporary inconvenience, but 
you are a very small part of God’s vast and 
beautiful creation. We purify the air that 
mankind breathes, we moderate the intense 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


cold, we protect the tender blades o£ grass 
and shoots of wheat and clean them. These 
you feast on in summer ; we gladden the hearts 
of thousands of little children as they hail 
our coming with laughter and jo3^” Saying 
this the spunky ” flake danced away. 

The two sparrows seemed quite dum- 
founded at what they had heard. The old 
owl winked with a meaning smile as he looked 
aside at his young friends and seemed to 
enjoy their ill-ease. Just then a ray of sun- 
shine swept along the hills, and hurried 
through the trees, calling into life as it went 
by, myriads of diamonds. The old owl 
blinked for a time at the growing splendor, 
then fluttered off to his dark hole. 

I stood and pitied the two sparrows. I 
thought they had suffered enough, so 
taking from my lunch box a piece of bread, 
I held it out to them. Strange to say, 
they instantly flew on to my outstretched 
hands, twittering what I supposed all the 
time to be, Many thanks, good sir, many 
thanks.^’ 

Poor little sparrows. Of course I pitied 
their painful plight, but, I must say, I had 
to blush in the presence of Mr. Owl at their 
lamentable ignorance of the uses and 
purposes of the snowflakes. The thought 
hurries to me pow, that perhaps there are 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


many of you little folks who may he ignorant 
of all the beautiful lessons the snow may 
teach. 

A great man has said that we can learn 
something from even the most lowly beings in 
creation.* No doubt it is true. Well, what 
may the snow teach us ? As I write now 
myriads of these merry little rascals are 
dancing about my windows, tempting me to 
let them in. But I must he deaf to their call, 
however, and hurry through my talk with 
you. 

Many of you little folks, I know, are like 
Job of old, who, when God asked him, 
Canst thou enter into the treasures hidden 
in the snow ? ” replied, “ What, Lord, can I 
answer ? I will lay my hand upon my mouth.’’ 
So it is with many of my little friends, 
were I to ask you what does a snowflake 
teach you? You would be constrained to 
answer, Alas, what can I say ? ” 

Well now, in looking at a plain of snow 
what first appeals to you ? Is it not its 
spotlessness, its chaste whiteness? As it 
descends from the heavens it is untainted. 
It becomes so only after a time, in its contact 
wdth the earth. Through the day when the 
sunlight turns it into a million diamonds, or 
at night when the moon spreads her dreamy 
light on it, it seems ever chaste and beautifuL 


LofC. 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


Here then, is the first lesson : — Nothing that 
is about us, should take away the purity of 
our souls, be it the glitter and mirth of a 
tempting world, or, be it the darkness of 
sin. No, our souls must be ever spotless in 
God’s sight. Just as the snow’s loveliness 
is affected neither by the darkness, nor the 
sunlight. 

What is the second lesson it teaches us ? 
It is this, little friends : — Only a chaste heart 
spotless of sin can shine before God, and throw 
back the reflection of His love. Just as soon 
as that whiteness of soul is destroyed by the 
soil of sin, just so soon does it lose that 
sweet reflecting power. 

0, little children ! let this reflection pass 
through your minds as in the winter you be- 
hold the dazzling snow : — I wonder if my 
soul is as pure in the sight of God as the 
snow is in mine ? ” If not, then will you sigh, 
and say in fervor that earnest prayer, ^^Wash 
me, 0 Lord, and I shall become whiter than 
snow.” 

Now, I feel that this talk would not 
prove of real interest, to the boys at least, 
if I were not to say something about the 
snowball, that little sphere in which there 
is concealed so much mischief, yet so 
much merriment. That little companion of 
boyhood days that has sailed through the 


THE SNO vV AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


frosty air with hopes and ambitions behind 
it. Just as the little projector will sail 
through life, only to fall to earth again and 
melt away. I am getting too serious again. 
Now for the snowball. 

It teaches us that in unity there is great 
power. 

A tiny flake of snow taken by itself, is a 
very light and flimsy thing, but when a 
young muscular hand grasps many of them, 
and fashions them into the deadly projectile 
known as the snowball,” then they become 
endowed with great power for good or evil 
according as they are directed, so, I count 
you little folks, to be as snowflakes. Of 
your own individual selves, you can as yet 
effect little good, but, when a Master-hand 
begins to mold you into a definite body, ah ! 
then by your accumulated strength you can 
do wonders. This will be true particularly 
in after life, when you as men and women 
will form yourselves into societies under the 
guiding hand of Holy Mother Church. Then 
will you see more clearly the lesson of the 
snowball. Then will you learn, that by 
your federation you can be a commanding 
power that will work great things for your 
faith and your country. 

But, here I am drifting into serious views 
again. Something is buzzing at my ears, 
101 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


another notion about the snowflake; the 
little teasers are still dancing and prattling 
through the brisk air, and as I look at them 
this is a thought that comes to me: We 
often pray to our good Lord, for days at a 
time, beseeching some spiritual favor. After 
a time, seeing no apparent effect of our plead- 
ing, we grow weary and cease praying al- 
together. 

This, surely, is very wrong, and for this I 
hear the snow scolding, Do you not know 
that the most precious graces God gives. He 
imparts little by little, not by one instant 
flow ? Do you not know also that your 
Heavenly Father sees what is best for your 
good, and perhaps he even sees that should 
He grant the favor you yearn for, it would 
after a time be to your ruin. 0 yes, little 
friends, the snowflakes speak sensibly. So 
it is with prayer and grace. 

Finally, our gentle friends of purest white 
tell us that though young and fair we may 
be, we will soon melt away into the soil and 
be forgotten as they are. So we may dance 
through the sunlit air of life for a space of 
years, but sooner or later the law of grav- 
itation will prevail. The inexorable law of 
decay will rule, and we shall pass away ; while 
still above us the flakes will fly merrily on, 
and quietly spread over us in due season 
103 


THE SNOW AND THE OWL’S WISDOM. 


a mantle of purest white. See to it, then, 
that you keep your souls ever spotless. As 
you frolic about in the winter time, reflect 
on the noble things the snow can teach you. 



103 


following tbe faster. 

SUFFER PATIENTLY THE PRIVATIONS OF THIS LIFE. 

Come, follow Me ! Come, follow Me ! was 
the burden of a sigh that passed as a dying 
zephyr through the dreaming forest, and 
He who gave voice to it was young and 
passing fair, though in his eyes there lurked 
a secret sadness : and the brooklet close by, 
that caught the sound of the voice, paused 
for the moment to harken, then hurried on 
again through the rocks and tangle wood, 
seeming all the while to prattle : I, Good 
Master, would follow you if you would, but 
you have not called me. The sprightly 
little birds chirped merrily as they fluttered 
from limb to limb, in playful love, above His 
head, ^^We will follow Thee, and sing thy 
praises, good Master. Bid us come to Thee ! ’’ 
But these words of good spirit seemed to 
fall unheeded on the Stranger’s heart, for 
His voice rose more plaintively than before, 
as though speaking to some one‘afar, Come, 
follow Me ; for My yoke is sweet, and My 
burden light, and you shall find rest for your 
souls.” 

Ah ! is it plain, then, that not to the 
104 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


brooks, or flowers, or birds, or rocks, were 
the words spoken, “ Come, follow Me,” but 
to the children of the hamlet in the distance, 
whose little feet were leading them away 
from Him as time wore on, into that country 
over which His enemy, the Prince of Dark- 
ness, held sway. Strange to relate, some of 
the children, after a time, caught the echo of 
His voice, and hastened aside into the wilder- 
ness, to be the followers of the Gentle Master. 
And they clung to His flowing girdle and 
traced His footsteps, and in their hands 
He placed sprigs of myrtle and palm, and 
they one and all answered to His sigh, Lord, 
we will follow Thee even unto death. Then 
holding forth His hand He said again. 
Come, and you shall see My yoke is 
sweet, and My burden light, and you shall 
find rest for your souls.” And they went, 
these faithful few, and He embraced them. 
He told them, too, as they scampered after 
Him, I will ask you to do, to suffer noth- 
ing, that I have not done and suffered, little 
friends. Should you be called upon to 
trudge across the bleak sands and wind-swept 
deserts, I first will go to mark your pathway, 
and you follow. When night comes on, we 
shall take our rest in the forest, apart from 
the wicked world, and the angels shall be 
near us as we slumber. Good Master, 
105 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


whither shall our journey tend/’ queried 
a child as he tugged at the Lord’s mantle. 
And the Master smiled and pointing upward 
said, To Paradise.” 

So onward moved the chosen little army. 
Often were their feet torn by the stones and 
briars. Often too did the moon’s pale light 
betray a pearly tear trembling on the fair 
young cheek of some lonely one. But the 
hearts of all were happy. 

The days passed on into months, and the 
year wore away. The valiant little band 
would now and then come without warning 
upon a fierce lion, whose very roar betimes 
chilled these little hearts. But the Master 
had schooled them in the use of arms, so they 
always silenced the growling beast and slew 
him. And through the longest time there 
was peace. 

But now in their wake came lurking a 
queer being of the forest. Children of the 
country about, were wont to call him Pan. 
His face was not ugly, nor was his voice 
harsh, but his lower limbs resembled those of 
a goat. They say he was fond of music and 
of jollity with the forest nymphs. I am 
told his antics were funny in the extreme, 
when he played on his tymbals and cav- 
orted on the green. Here is something 
strange of him, however : his notes had the 
106 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


power of molding the wills of others to his 
own. Yes, it is said by one who surely 
knows, that should a child harken to his 
piping, he would in the end become blind 
and deaf. Oh, dear ! it can hardly be true. 
But still in a big book it says that many a 
tot running after him to listen to his songs, 
was overpowered by his evil eye, so that 
those two little feet toddled after the Master 
no longer ; nor cared any more to be His 
follower, but preferred forsooth to dance 
with Pan and his naiads and so make merry 
through the livelong day. The wearisome 
following of the master did not last so long. 
A lordly mountain at last lifted itself be- 
fore their tired eyes and the morning sun 
threw its glory about it as a halo. 

Behold, my children,” said the Good 
Leader at last to His little soldiers. Our 
marching and battling are now at an end, 
come aside and rest awhile. And He re- 
freshed their blushing cheeks and parched 
lips with crystal water. There are many 
mansions in yonder mountain,” he said, 
and in their halls I have prepared a place 
for you who have been true to me. Therein, 
will your weary hearts find peace, and your 
little aching limbs be clothed in the robe of 
immortality.” How beautiful ! ” heaved 
their little bosoms in a grateful sigh. 

107 ’ 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


These words were scarcely spoken, when 
a vast and radiant chorus of blessed spirits 
were seen coming from the clouds about 
them ; angels with glittering wings came 
softly, too, and lifted tenderly from the 
shoulders of the little travelers, the heavy 
packets they had been carrying. I know 
not how it happened, but a fleecy cloud now 
spread itself under them, and bore the little 
army heavenward, amidst the canticles of 
angels. Again was taken up the half for- 
gotten refrain, ^^His yoke is sweet, and His 
burden light, and we have found rest for our 
souls.’’ As they entered the portals of the 
Mansion, golden crowns were placed upon 
their brows. Then I saw them no more. It 
is said that thos6 who tarried to listen to Pan 
and his naiads, became bewildered as a for- 
rest fire swept by. Most of them were con- 
sumed I trow. Their cries for help were 
pitiful in the extreme. But from the dark- 
ness came only the response, Too late, too 
late.” 

You cannot doubt for an instant, little 
friends, who the fair Stranger is, who stood 
by the forest-border and called Come, fol- 
low Me ! He represents your Blessed Lord, 
Who passes amongst His children of to-day 
as of yore, and whispers to their hearts the 
same sweet refrain, Come, follow Me ! He 
108 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


especially would have little ones to be His 
followers. Now isn’t it sad when you think 
that only the echo of His voice comes back 
when He calls, or, perchance, the response of 
a bird or a brook- which are ever true to Him ? 
And again, undaunted. He calls with the voice 
of His grace, Come, follow Me ! you little 
children of the crowded city, come aside till 
I whisper to you some sweet secrets.” How 
glad I am, when I know that not every child 
stands cold of heart to His loving call. For 
some do leave the city of dim and wild 
pleasure, and run to Him when He calls. 
Such He embraces and blesses^ But He 
tells them, it is no easy thing to follow Him, 
for in doing so they must shoulder their 
budgets of trouble, and sorrow, and poverty, 
and tears. In a word, they must take up 
their tiny crosses and follow Him. They 
must bear with smiling faces vexing poverty 
and murmur not at sickness and pain. 

There is an incident in your Divine Lord’s 
Life, that always makes the moisture steal 
to my eyes, and so I ponder upon it but sel- 
dom. You remember when our Saviour was 
entering the city He loved the best. He 
had just dried His eyes after a good cry, for 
He was lonesome, and felt hurt at the cold- 
ness of many of His little friends. When 
He came to the city gates, thousands of tots 
109 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


just like you, crowded about Him in wild 
joys. They sang and threw blossoms and 
palms in His path, and J esus was pleased, 
I know, as they chanted, Hail to the Son 
of David.” I suppose they fairly hid Him 
in flowers. And so He passed on. 

Six days later, that same sweet face passed 
without the city gates. OJi ! what a sad 
change had come over it. Christ is bleed- 
ing, and laden with a cross. See how He 
looks about for His little friends to come to 
Him. But no. Alas ! what do I hear ? 
What do I see ? Some of them join their 
shrill voices in the shout Away with Him ! 
Crucify Him ! Oh ! how different their song 
now from that of a few days before. Oh ! 
faithless little ones, I hope you were few. 
You scampered after Jesus in His glory, 
when He was ladened with blossoms. You 
turned your backs on Him when sadness 
and thorns have befallen His brow. Oh ! 
Shame ! You ! little friends, would never do 
such a thing, I know. Tell me, what is the 
journey through this life but a following of 
Jesus ? When He comes along the highway 
in triumph, thousands of eager little feet run 
after Him, and share the music and sunshine. 
What do I mean ? Why, when we have no 
poverty or pain to suffer, we cling close to 
our Lord. But when he heads toward Cal- 
110 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


vary in tears and suffering, when He sends 
us afflictions and privations in this Hfe, how 
many follow Him then ? Think this question 
over, little friends, and answer to your own 
souls. 

Some of you may ask, as did the children 
of the forest, What is to be my reward for 
trudging patiently after my Master? The 
response is found in the tale just told, 
“ Paradise.” The young soldier who suffers 
in patience the pangs of poverty or any other 
affliction, has reason to feel consoled for 
bearing them in union with his Lord. He 
is answering bravely the sweet call, “ Come, 
follow Me ! ” Oh ! I am forgetting to tell you 
who Pan is meant to represent. This strange 
character, my httle friends, is a type of 
Satan, ever on the alert to steal away, from 
Christ’s little band, some worthy soul. Yes, 
he plays a deadly music, one which if listened 
to, lulls to sleep the soul. Yes, it is a sad 
fact that some little folks fritter away the 
hours of youth in dancing to the music of 
Pan, and leading lives of ease and sensuality. 
Do they hear the call, Come, follow Me ? ” 
Oh ! yes. But the evil whispering of the 
Devil seems to enchant them. Then the 
night comes on. The music is still. The 
forest fire rages. In their remorse these 
foolish youths call for help. But ofttimes 


FOLLOWING THE MASTER. 


to them, as to the unwise virgins, is given the 
answer, Too late ! too late ! ” 

Taking up again the thread of our story, 
you recall, little friends, how beautiful was 
the end of the journey. Ah ! still more 
beautiful will be the final scene in the life of 
the little followers of Jesus, — those who 
spend their lives in humility, poverty, and 
chastity. From the weary hearts of such 
will the angels lift the burden of care, and 
the good Leader will take them gently to a 
place of refreshment, light, and peace. 

Little friends, there is only one test by 
which your love for your gentle Saviour can 
be proven. He says, If any man love me, 
let Him deny himself, and take up his cross, 
and follow Me. 

Now, in your guileless years, if your little 
hands hold few of the world's goods ; if your 
little limbs be clad in tatters rather than 
fine clothes ; if, too, at Christmas time, no 
trees, or toys cheer your humble little home, 
be not downcast, you are following Jesus. 
The cross is then on your shoulders. Kiss 
the hand that placed it thereon. Throw 
your tiny arms in embrace about it and be 
glad, for you are one of those to whom the 
Master has called, Come, follow Me." 


112 


Ube animals’ Congress. 

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS. 

Good morning, Mr. Rabbit, whither are 
you hurrying at such an early hour ? My 
goodness ! how handsome and prim you look 
in your glossy white coat, but arn’t you a 
trifle early ? As yet I have scarcely rubbed 
the sleep out of my eyes.’’ It was none 
other than Mr. Squirrel who thus addressed 
his friend Jack Rabbit as the latter bounded 
proudly by. 

I am surprised,” Mr. Rabbit made 
answer, now pausing and looking up at the 
limb whereon Mr. Squirrel was perched, in- 
deed, more than surprised am I that you query 
of me why I am hurrying. Have you not 
heard of the edict that our worthy Sire, King 
Leo Lion, has issued? ” 

Edict ! ” exclaimed Mr. Squirrel, jump- 
ing down and becoming thoroughly interested. 

Why, what in the world is an edict ?” See 
here,” snapped Mr. Rabbit curtly, I can- 
not tarry now to enlighten you on the 
subject, but, I advise you to come along with 
me as fast as you can. For, if the King 
8 113 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


should miss one of his subjects this morning, 
it will go hard with that subject I assure 
you.’’ 

Now utterly confused, Mr. Squirrel ran 
along with his prudent adviser, not even 
waiting to don his best coat. They took 
the shortest way to the meeting grove, jump- 
ins: streams and fences at a bound, in their 
eagerness to be on time. 

At last, after jaunting through dark 
winding ways, the sound of distant voices 
struck their ears. ^^Ah ! ” sighed Mr. Rabbit, 
hastening still faster, see, we are here at 
last.’’ 

There, seated on his throne, a huge stump, 
bedecked with moss, was King Leo Lion, 
and grouped about him were hundreds of his 
loyal subjects. Every species of animal in 
the dense forest had sent an envoy. The 
two late comers had hardly been seated 
when his majesty, the forest King, arose to 
address the assembly. All bowed respect- 
fully as he ascended the rostrum. A hush, 
like a spell, stole over all. 

^^My loyal subjects of this forest king- 
dom,” he began in sonorous tones, I have 
called you hither to-day for the considera- 
tion of a subject that deeply concerns us all. 
It is this : — W e have suffered in silence long 
enough, the cruelties that have been heaped 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


upon US by those wicked beings whom the 
world is pleased to call men. We shall 
stand their indignities no longer ! ’’ Plere the 
varied audience, thrilled by the eloquence 
of the speaker, broke into loud and long ap- 
plause. When the King raised his mighty 
paw, however, in a menacing gesture, the 
tumult quieted down. 

Now, my worthy subjects, your hearts, I 
am sure, burn with a desire of revenge, when 
you recount how many of your fathers and 
kinsfolk have been trapped and maimed by 
these shrewd beings who claim to be of 
superior intelligence.” 

Many faces now dropped, as sad memories 
were awakened, and many were the tears 
that were stealthily sniffed away. 

Bold as it may seem, sirs, I intend that 
we shall wage war on these our oppressors, 
and treat them as they have treated us — 
without mercy. My slender subject here,” he 
continued, pointing to Mr. Robin, can 
recount to you how he has been confined a 
prisoner behind bars through years, for no 
cause whatever. My gentle friend here at 
my right, Miss Pussy, can set before you a 
tale of cruelties that would make your hearts 
melt with pity.” 

The gaze of all was now turned to Miss 
Pussy, but she looked demure and did not 
115 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


raise her eyes. Will you, then, my followers, 
come with me and inflict upon these men the 
pains they have so mercilessly meted out to 
your brethren ? We will ! we will ! ” came 
the deafening cry that filled the forest. 

Your Lordship, hold a moment ! ’’ spoke 
a timid voice coming from the rear of the 
group. It was Mr. Lamb, and he gently 
ambled to the side of King Leo Lion. Let 
us not be carried away by impulse or pas- 
sion, worthy comrades, let us reflect. What 
good can accrue to us as a result of waging 
war on our oppressors ? Can we not avoid 
them ? Can we not live here in peace 
amidst these cool glens, avoiding the 
misery and heat of battle ? Ah, let us re- 
member that we are creatures of God as well 
as mankind. If they choose to kill and 
wound us, let us bear it without resentment. 
Perhaps by our meekness and submission, 
we shall bring them to feel remorse for their 
misdeeds.” 

Now I have attended many a convention 
and heard countless telling speeches, but 
Mr. Lamb’s was, by far, the most eloquent 
I have ever listened to. I could now see 
deep thought on the features of all, even 
old Mr. Rhinoceros ceased snoring, and 
stayed awake through the whole proceeding. 
King Leo Lion now arose and in subdued 
116 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


tone said, Good sirs, the logic of Mr. 
Lamb we cannot resist. Second thought is 
perhaps better. We shall do as he says.” 
All present nodded assent. 

The Congress began now to disband. 
The birds flew away singing their sweetest 
songs. The rest after exchanging adieus, 
bounded through the forest to their respec- 
tive homes. The meek Mr. Lamb remained 
where he had spoken, for he did not care to 
meet Mr. Jackdaw who insisted on getting 
extracts of the speech for publication. 
Being fatigued anyway he laid down on a 
mossy pillow to rest. Then I left him. 

Little friends, fully am I aware that this 
story makes you smile. The idea of animals 
holding a meeting and making fine speeches 
is indeed funny. Supposing, however, that 
all these dwellers of the forest, were for a 
time endowed with the gifts of intelligence 
and speech, what do you suppose would 
be the first thing that they would talk 
about ? I imagine their discourse would, in 
a great measure, be concerning the harsh- 
ness, of many of you children, to them. 
Too frequently in truth do many little folks 
fail to consider the feelings or rights of poor 
dumb animals. 

Your Good Father in Heaven gave these 
willing creatures to man to be his helpmates 
117 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


in his toil. They were never intended as 
objects of abuse. In creating animals Al- 
mighty God has placed upon them certain 
duties which they must fulfil, and as far as I 
have observed they perform these duties 
most willingly and well. They never halt at 
a task be it ever so hard. They wear their 
fives away in being the servants and slaves of 
mankind. 

Well, now, does it ever occur to you that 
you have certain obligations in regard to 
your willing helpmates ? Indeed you have. 
First of all, consider that they are the work 
of your Creator. They in their own way 
give glory to God as you do in yours. For 
the Psalmist told me so. Again, God loves 
them to a degree as He must love all the 
works of His hands. Therefore, when you 
use them harshly you can readily see where- 
in you sin. If a wicked boy were to snatch 
from your hand a pretty artificial bird, 
which you had expended days in fashioning, 
and mutilated or defaced it, you would no 
doubt feel angered. Now, then, animals 
bear even a closer relation to their Creator 
than the clay bird would bear to you, its 
maker. 

Some little folks seem by nature to be 
cruelly disposed to animals. I saw a little 
chap one day driving a pretty Shetland 
118 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


pony, every few seconds I could hear the 
whip whistle through the air, and then lash 
down upon the back of the little pet. At 
last catching sight of a kind-hearted old 
man who was working in the field, the suf- 
fering pony lifted its head and made a queer 
noise, which the old man straightway inter- 
preted ; for coming to the roadside he gave 
the boy a few cuts with his own whip then 
asked him how he liked it. I could not 
catch the lad’s reply, but I learned since he 
never whipped the pony thereafter. 

I have known boys, and perhaps you have 
too, who make a habit of a cruelty more 
painful than the foregoing. I speak of 
those unpitying young rascals who rob or 
destroy the nests of birds. I chanced to 
walk, some time ago, close to a lilac bush. 
There I saw a poor bird hopping nervously 
from one twig to another, its voice was not 
one of song, but rather a pitiful cry. I felt 
for the defenseless little thing, so I chirped 
to it as well as I could, meaning to let it 
know that I was its friend and would be 
a help to it if I could. Just then I heard a 
rustling noise among the bushes. I saw a 
lad with a roguish face running away. In his 
hand he grasped the tender offspring of the 
weeping mother. She flew after him and in 
her own touching way besought the young 
119 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


villain not to rob her of her treasure, but the 
boy was bereaved of all noble instincts, and 
continuing his race was soon out of sight. 
The tender captive, so I heard, died shortly 
afterward of loneliness for its mother. 

I really cannot fathom the secret of a 
boy’s fondness for a pastime such as this. 
An old history relates that in a certain part 
of Persia, those who ill-treat animals are 
subjected by the chief ruler to just such a 
pain as they had meted out to the poor 
things. Good for the Persians ! There law 
is very salutary. I would like to see it en- 
forced in our own country. You will never 
see a well-bred child resort to practises in- 
human as these. Therefore, if you wish to 
be classed with those who possess some 
sense of refinement, treat your faithful serv- 
ants with kindness. 

Here is a fact, little friends, that cannot 
fail to impress you. Most animals are gifted 
with a deep sense of gratitude, a trait which 
boys and girls often fail to show. 

Have you ever spoken kindly to a faithful 
dog? If so, did you not then notice, how 
readily he appreciated it, how he seemed, 
even to detect the friendly inflection of your 
voice ? He came bounding up to you with 
a strange whine that was really an attempt at 
speaking. Then perhaps he licked your hand. 

1:^0 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


If you gently stroke the mane of a horse, 
or pat him, he will lick your hand, or 
whinny, or neigh, to tell you he realizes 
your little act of kindness. If you chirp to 
a bird as it hops from tree to tree, it will 
stop and answer you as politely as you 
please, or it will break out into pretty song. 
Isn’t this all beautiful and does it not show 
what splendid traits all animals possess when 
we treat them with a little thoughtful 
care? 

Remember too, my little friends, that some 
animals have done deeds of bravery, and 
have shown devotedness to their masters, 
that would put many a child to shame. It 
is not needful that I tell you what great 
service the St. Bernard dogs render to poor 
belated travelers in the bitterness of winter, 
when they have fallen victims to the biting 
winds that sweep across the Alps, and how 
many a watch-dog will stand guard at your 
door through the dreary night when he sus- 
pects that thieves, or such kind, will steal in 
to harm you. 

Only a few days ago I read in a daily 
paper, the touching story of a mastiff who, 
when his master died, wandered to the grave 
and there kept vigil until he died of hunger 
rather than leave the form, though hidden, 
he loved so well. Surely all these little 
121 


THE ANIMALS’ CONGRESS. 


facts betoken a spirit of loyalty in animals 
if their masters but treat them kindly. 

Try then to retain, little friends, the 
lesson I have tried to teach in this chapter. 
No one could blame the members of the 
entire animal kingdom if they, some day, 
should call a congress to protest against the 
cruelties of manland. 


122 


Blonso ant) tbe Zmg. 


BAD HABITS. 

It is said that not more than three persons 
in the whole world know the story I am go- 
ing to tell you, little friends, so there can be 
no doubt of it having real interest for you. 
It was told me by an old traveler, who came 
from distant Asia to see me. 

A comely youth, ’’ he said, lay sleeping 
one morning under the shade of a palm tree. 
By his feet a cascade came tumbling over 
the rocks. Its waters were of a greenish 
hue and fragrant. He was evidently a stran- 
ger in those parts, for his toga was at vari- 
ance with all the types about him. His 
features, too, were more regular than those 
of the ordinary Asiatic boy. From his 
locks there came an odor as of spikenard. 
His feet were shod with jeweled sandals. 
These things bespoke his wealth. A palm 
tree moist with dew bent over his form and 
threw its branches awide to keep from his 
eyes the rays of the rising sun. The belated 
young traveler now and then sighed heavily, 
but he did not open his eyes. His heart was 
123 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


perhaps heavy, or was he dreaming of his 
home beyond the seas? 

From behind the tree, there now stepped, 
with a lithe movement, a figure youthful, too, 
and graceful, but his skin was as black as 
ebony. He fell on one knee, and laying his 
muscular hand with much gentleness on the 
brow of the young slumherer, he whispered, 
with much animation as his eyes stared. 

Awake, Alonzo, a zang has fallen from the 
limb upon your head.’’ Now a zang, he who 
told me this tale, declares, is a small insect 
no bigger than an ant, but in one night it 
can grow to the size of a serpent, if it chooses. 

I have since consulted wise men all over 
the world to tell me of the vicious insect, 
but, save one, they pleaded ignorance of the 
existence of such a being. Still I do not 
doubt the word of my old friend from Asia. 

Now, Alonzo awoke, but not with any great 
evidence of alarm. What of it ? ” he said 
with a bland smile. Why this fear ? If a 
zang has fallen amongst my locks, let it stay 
there. A thing so small can never hurt me.” 

‘‘ Mark what I say,” answered the black 
slave. Either you will kill it now or it 
will kill you ere to-morrow.” That would 
make anyone shudder, wouldn’t it? But 
Alonzo merely laughed in scorn, as he arose. 
He threw his luggage over his shoulder and 
124 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


began to walk into the desert, continuing his 
journey. The native looked at him with an 
expression of pity, and as Alonzo faded from 
the horizon, he sighed and sat by the foot of 
the tree, and his thoughts were sad. All 
through the day, the native kept sighing, 
Alas, the poor stranger will lament all this 
folly to-morrow.” 

When the cool winds of evening came to 
soothe Alonzo’s heated brain, and waft to 
him sweet memories from afar, he had trav- 
eled many miles. He ate some fruit to slake 
his thirst, and then, as if by a spirit hand, 
his eyes were closed in slumber. Again the 
same sighs came as in the morning — again the 
same smile that told the trend of his slumber 
thoughts. I do not know how many hours 
he had been sleeping, but he was at last 
awakened by a smothering feeling. Some 
unseen yet mighty hand was grasping him 
about the throat. Could it be the treacher- 
ous slave ? Had he come to strangle him ? 

He tried to wrest himself from the clutches 
of the monster, but in vain. As he glanced 
beside him, he saw, running to his assistance, 
the black native who had warned him on 
the morning previous. ^^Alas! Alonzo, I 
told you of the zang’s treachery, did I not? 
But you would not do my bidding. Its arms 
are now mighty and no human power can 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


free you.” But he had not finished these 
words when Alonzo’s fair young face became 
covered with the pallor of death — then it grew 
black. His eyes glared from their sockets. 
Strange as it may seem, a passing cloud 
paused to look down on him. It trembled 
and shed a few tears on Alonzo’s face, fixed 
in the last agony. The native tenderly cov- 
ered the form of the young traveler with a 
mantle. And he said as he walked sadly 
away : Sleep on now, unwise one, in your 

final slumber.” 

I know the desert spot whereon Alonzo 
now sleeps, for my old visitor showed it to 
me on the map. A maiden, from a distant 
land, comes faithfully once a year on the 
wings of morn to lay a lily on the lonely 
grave. She loved Alonzo, for though he 
was reckless, he was loyal and true. 

Now, little friends, as long as Alonzo’s 
grave is seen to so sweetly by the maiden so 
fair, I will not worry ; for I know she will be 
faithful to her task once a year. But rather 
I will concern myself about the many little 
travelers who are about to set out across 
life’s desert. And I will warn them, if zangs 
should fall upon their heads and if they will 
not kill them, then I perhaps will fret as 
the slave did, and perhaps too, be an unwill- 
ing witness to another sad end. 

i^e 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


In the tale just told, note what a true type 
Alonzo is, of you, young reader. He was 
youthful and comely, so are you, I know. 
He was possessed of riches, as perfume came 
from his brow, and jeweled sandals were on 
his feet. You are wealthy too, in enjoying 
God’s grace. He was traveling to his own 
country to meet and be united with one he 
had learned to love. You are traveling 
toward Heaven — ^your home — to live forever 
with your Beloved, who loves you. But I 
will carry the parallel no further, as I hope 
that, unlike Alonzo, you will kill every moral 
zang, every bad habit, you see coming to 
fold you in its iron grasp. I fancy I can 
see your little brows ruffle up as the plaint 
comes from your lips, 0 Father ! How 
gloomy your words are in this little talk.” 
They may be, children, but I cannot paint a 
somber picture with bright colorings. 

As yet, you know not what real sorrow is, 
because you know not what a sinful habit 
is. The few little tears that have crept 
down your cheeks have quickly been chase.d 
away by your merry smiles. Sighing is a 
dreary pastime about which, as yet, you have 
learned but little. Future time will tell you 
that habits of sin alone can cause real gloom 
to come to your bosoms. 

You have already seen, Ijttle ones, how 
127 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


earnestly the good slave entreated Alonzo 
to kill the zang. Do you not remark how 
fervently your elders and teachers warn you 
now to kill some evil practise that is begin- 
ning to lead you away ? Ah, it is because 
they can foresee the baneful outcome of a 
continued bad habit — just as the watchful 
pilot can see ruin lurking to envelop his 
craft, if he turn her not aside. A sinful 
habit, little friends, is the most merciless 
monster that can lay its fangs upon a child. 
It will not be satisfied with casting you 
down, now and then, but it will crave to 
gain complete control over you, then reck- 
lessly to ruin you, as the zang did Alonzo. 

Some of my little friends may accuse me 
here, of my old failing — of getting too 
serious or of magnifying tiny failings. One 
of you may declare that a lie is a small thing 
— to steal is a venial fault — to foster an 
unchaste fantasy, is no great crime. That 
all may be true, my innocent little ones, but 
these faults or habits are all young serpents 
and if not cast off now, they will sting later 
on in years, and that sting will cause you 
many a sigh, as you sit alone and ponder 
over your folly. 

Remember, little friends, that those wicked 
men, whom you frequently hear of now-a- 
days in our daily papers were once good and 

128 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


innocent children, as you are now. From 
the eye that now flashes with a vicious anger, 
once beamed the soft light of meekness. 
From the bps that vomit forth words of vil- 
lainy, in the long ago there came the sweet- 
ness of prayer and holy song. The hand 
that has just been reddened with a murder- 
er’s blood, once was clasped about a mother’s 
neck or fondled piously the Rosary beads. 
The feet that now wander through the world 
in despair, once went in reverential tread to 
the Banquet of Love.” 

Yes, little friends, if you were to ask any 
one of those unfortunates whose wail of 
hopelessness is heard around the world, 
what it was that caused their ruin, they will, 
with one accord, tell you it was their neglect 
in conquering some evil habit, that in their 
tender years began to entice them into slav- 
ery. What then are you to do, to guard 
yourselves against a like fall into bondage ? 
Why ! Oppose the very first enticings of 
any action that you perceive is likely to grow 
into a habit. Every child has a door to his 
or her heart, to that door there is a key. 
That key is your will. Should you some 
day suspect that there is an evil habit lurk- 
ing there, pluck it out with the golden lancet 
of prayer, as a surgeon would cut away a 
cancerous tissue. Then, every night as you 
Q 129 


ALONZO AND THE ZANG. 


put your tired little heads upon the pillow, 
just open the door and peek into the crevices 
of those hearts. Has any dangerous 
visitor stolen in to-day, I wonder ? ’’ you 
will muse to yourself. will see.” Then 
if you find none, thank your Saviour and 
vow to him that you will be as vigilant on 
the morrow. 

But perhaps, you will now sigh as you 
read and say, 0 dear ! I have not one, but 
many, many bad habits-” What then ? 
Well, as you cannot pull out of a garden 
many little weeds at once, so you will be un- 
able to root out your evil tendencies all at 
once. Take one at a time and with God’s 
help, all will be well. 


130 


XTbc /iDermafb. 


GRACE. 

I TAKE it, little friends, that everybody 
knows Tacks ” the Mariner. He was a 
mere boy, I know, but braver than he never 
lived. As you scan the list of notable men 
you may not be able to see his name, for 
being a mite of a chap they print it in tiny 
letters, and so you may pass it over. Tacks 
was wrecked once, and went to the bottom 
of the sea. There is another, who claims the 
honor of making his dwelling there, but 
Tacks never met him. The little hero of 
my tale was hiding behind a clump of sea- 
weed one day, when he noticed a fair mer- 
maid, Margarita by name, come sweeping 
through the sunlit waters. A weird yet 
pleasant music charmed Tacks so that he 
sighed in rapture ! Closer the mermaid 
glided, more soothing the song became. N o w 
it died away and a ripple of laughter broke 
through the caverns of the sea. 0 dear ! ’’ 
said Margarita, blending her smiles, “ I feel 
so happy that I long to impart my secret to 
some one. I must tell, yea, even the fishes 
131 


THE MERMAID. 


of the sea, of my pearl of joy, if I can find 
no other.” Just then Tacks was about to 
say, “ I, pretty one, will harken to your story,” 
but a fish close by whispered, Do you hear 
what she says?” Yes indeed,” came the 
answer. I wonder would her grace deign 
to look upon common fishes such as we are, 
and tell the secret of her merriment. She 
speaks of a pearl. What does she mean? 
We will swim over and talk to her.” 

‘‘ Come hither, you timid little darlings,” 
said Margarita as she caught sight of the little 
rogues drawing nigh to her as stealthily as 
would young mice. Can I do anything to 
make you light-hearted and gay ? ” queried 
Margarita, showing her pearly teeth. Here 
Tacks was about to put in his bid for a 
favor, but his voice failed him. Yes, yes,” 
answered the fat little fellow next to her. 

Tell us why you are ever joyful ? Why 
your laugh has such a merry ring to it ? ” 
“ Well now I will, and that this instant,” 
said Margarita draping her tresses in grace- 
ful folds over the side of a rock. I want 
to see you dear little creatures ever happy 
even as I,” continued the mermaid, throwing 
back her auburn curls. ^^You ofttimes 
marvel at my continued good humor.” We 
do,” sighed the listening fishes. So do I,” 
said Tacks to himself. W ell-nigh a year 


THE MERMAID. 


ago/’ continued the queenly Margarita, as 
I was wending through the jagged rocks in 
the caves of the sea, I met a youth of fair 
features and gentle mien. He said, ^ You 
are not happy, Margarita, for I can read 
your heart.’ I blushingly confessed I was 
not. ^ Then,’ said he, lifting from his 
purse a glistening pearl, ^ take this, guard it 
well and gloom shall never cast its shadows 
on your fair brow.’ 

I was amazed exceedingly, I took the 
priceless gem into my hands,” and here she 
showed it to the fishes. Tacks took a peep 
too. Straightway I felt as if I had been 
wafted to another sphere.” I laughed, I 
glided through the waters without effort. I 
sang. And now I wish all of you to know 
the secret of my joys. But,” she said, 
darkness is coming on. Time for all little 
fishes to go to rest. I cannot tarry longer 
now, I will see you all on the morrow.” And 
so, Margarita, rising like a dove from her 
velvety seat, passed away. The fishes seemed 
to me to be really enchanted, for they looked 
after her until darkness enfolded her from 
sight. The mermaids by the rock peeped 
around the corner, then said they, Let us 
rest here for the night, and when morning 
comes we will rise, and go to meet our royal 
sister.” And so the fishes and the mermaids 
133 


THE MERMAID. 


huddled together and soon their heads were 
bobbing to sleep. A lone moonbeam stole 
beneath the waters in quest o£ some one to 
play with. Tacks straightway jumped at a 
chance for fun. They giggled at each other 
for a time. Then I saw Tacks wink. The 
moonbeam understood, for it folded the lad 
in her arms and hurried to the surface. The 
last time I saw them they were flying over 
the hills. 

In the meanwhile the sirens’ dismal cry 
aroused the slumberers and startled them. 

Ah, I fear,” said one of the mermaids clasp- 
ing her hands as if in prayer, some calamity 
is about to befall us. The sirens’ wail 
always bespeaks evil. Look, my sisters, who 
is that ugly creature that draws nigh with 
wicked face and matted hair ? She is weep- 
ing ! ” This uncomely being lifted her hand 
as though to prevent further comment, and 
said, Oh, sister, you call me ugly, and 
keenly do I feel my deformity. Be not 
aflrightened. I am none other than Mar- 
garita ! When I left you an hour ago, I 
foolishly went to the dragons’ cave, and, 0 
miserable me ! they bartered with me for 
my pearl. In its stead they gave me a beau- 
tiful plume, which withered as I touched it. 
My grace of features and form withered 
too on the instant.” 


134 


THE MERMAID. 


Oh, woe is mine ! ’’ she cried and passed 
behind an unfeeling rock. Nor did any one 
see her again, as far as I know. 

You have harkened to my tale, little ones, 
now try to grasp its meaning. Margarita, 
the erstwhile sweetest of the mermaids, is a 
type of the child who for a time lives on in the 
grace of God, but who after a while allows 
herself to be enticed by the tempter into the 
caves of sin, and gives up God’s grace in ex- 
change for some pleasure of the moment 
which wilts away, as did the feather, ere it 
was enjoyed. 

You may remark, Margarita became so 
suddenly deformed ! ” Ah ! as the blighting 
of natural loveliness is a process that takes 
but a fleeting moment, so the loss of spir- 
itual grace comes too in the twinkling of 
an eye. See then how carefully it must be 
guarded. 

In this chapter, little friends, I fain would 
impress upon your good little hearts the 
necessity of guarding each hour your pearl of 
grace, and of avoiding the dragons’ cave, 
i, 6., The occasions of sin. 

You would like to live happily all the days 
of your lives, I know you would, and to be 
ever in the humor of singing as Margarita 
was, for what is life bereft of happiness ? A 
miserable exile indeed. Now there is just 
* 135 


THE MERMAID. 


one, and only one, secret o£ being ever light- 
hearted. 

This is keeping ever within your souls the 
light and warmth of Divine Grace. 

If I were to ask now what is grace, you 
would perhaps become confused, you would 
like to peek into your catechisms. But 
wait. I will define it for you in a childlike 
fashion. 

Grace is that gentle guidance that comes 
to us from above. It falls as gently upon 
the soul as dew upon the parched flowers. 
With its coming, we feel that Jesus our 
Lord is near us, and we say to ourselves. 

Oh, how I love You, Lord. How I re- 
joice in serving You. I will ever be Your 
devoted child.’’ Grace is a little slender ladder 
that tends heavenward. It is a pure and glad- 
some light that cheers your way, that makes 
your eyes sparkle and your hearts beat 
faster. It is that sweet feeling of soul, 
that leads you to detest sin and love all that 
is chaste and good. Again : grace is that 
sweet voice which beguiles you to prayer. 
Yes, it is all the foregoing. It is more. It 
is the comforting blessing of your Saviour 
that lightens your toils through the days, 
and sweetens your rest at night. It is, 
again, the cause of the wondrous fortitude 
that enables you to stand and look death in 
136 


THE MERMAID. 


the face without a tremor. It is, lastly, 
little friends, the voice' that whispers in your 
ear, as your mother would whisper, the secret 
that God loves you and is always watching 
over you. Grace can be likened to every- 
thing in the world that is beautiful, noble 
and pure. It is sunlight that dispels the 
gloom. It is perfume that destroys all foul 
odors. It is that delicious tonic that renders 
your hearts impregnable against fatigue. 

Now, little friends, haven’t I said a lot of 
nice things about grace, and just think, they 
are all true. But over all else reflect : Grace is 
a pearl more precious than the one Margarita 
held, and its loss will be attended by sorrow 
more bitter than that w'hich wrung the 
heart of the foolish little mermaid. 

Don’t you remember, little friends, on cer- 
tain days during the month of April, how 
your hearts were glad at the coming of gentle 
spring. The morning perhaps dawned soft 
and warm. You frolicked about the green 
in merry mood. Then without warning, a 
big gloomy cloud came and hid from you 
the warm sun. Drops of rain began ,to 
patter against your face, the moaning winds 
swept by and chilled you. Then the storm 
came in torrents. You ran for a place of 
shelter. You looked out on the scene of 
your former play, and said hard sayings 


THE MERMAID. 


about that mean black cloud. Y oung friends, 
this represents very well, I think, the little 
tragedy that takes place in your souls when 
the blackness of sin destroys the light of 
grace. 

Two small boys stood one day on a corner 
looking at a poor trolley-car that seemed to 
be in sore distress. It had remained motion- 
less on the track for a long time. Why 
does not the man turn the handle ? ” said the 
first lad. Why, he has it turned,” replied 
his chubby companion. I cannot see, then, 
why the car does not move,” rejoined the 
young philosopher. Why, that is easily ex- 
plained,” his friend made answer. The cur- 
rent has been broken off at the power-house, 
so the car is helpless.” Now, little friends, 
as the trolley cannot move without being as- 
sisted by the electric flow from the power- 
house, so neither can you make any progress 
in the way of saving your souls without 
divine grace, which is the spiritual motive 
power. 

I am sure you marvel betimes, at the prog- 
ress some of your companions make in the 
spiritual life, or even in their studies. They 
grow more learned and more pious as the 
days speed by, whilst you perhaps falter by 
the wayside. 

You ask me to solve this puzzle for you. 

138 


THE MERMAID. 


I will tell you to look to the trolley for the 
answer. The power from above is turned 
off. You have not the divine grace with 
you, which is obtained so easily by prayer. 

Why are you so foolish as to forget that 
your Loving Lord has said, Without Me 
you can do nothing.” When you recite 
the sweet Hail Mary ” dwell on the words 
full of grace ” and you will understand why 
Mary is so beautiful and so powerful. Now, 
little friends, I am going to ask you to stand 
with me for a moment on a well-kept lawn. 
See how fresh and green it is. How you 
love to rest your eyes on it. Come with 
me now a few steps farther. Look beneath 
the stoop. There you see the grass too. 
But oh ! how different it is, from that so 
fresh and green you saw a moment ago. It 
has the air. It has the morning dew. It 
grows from the same earth. Why, then, 
alas ! is it not redolent and fair ? Oh ! one 
thing is wanting. The sunlight does not 
warm it with its smiles. And so, wearied by 
its constant gloom, it droops and dies. Ah ! 
yes, and dies. 

So it is with the hearts of my little friends 
while they live in the pure sunlight of God’s 
grace, they continue fair and sweet, as the 
dews of heaven fall gently upon them. 
But when they withdraw themselves from 


THE MERMAID. 


its warmth they become seared and languid 
and at length, die. Ah ! yes, and die. 

Now, many of you youngsters who study 
arithmetic can do a sum in proportion, so 
you will grasp the notion when I tell you, 
that your happiness in this world will ever be 
just in proportion to the amount of grace 
that lives within your souls. More grace, 
more happiness. No grace, no happiness. 
You have read at times in pious story-books 
about the saints and martyrs, and you must 
have wondered how these holy men and 
women, and in cases, children, could be so 
austere and yet so merry and jovial to those 
around them. There was ever a ring of 
mirth to their laughter, that gladdened the 
souls who heard it. A soft pure light, too, 
sparkled in their eyes that told too well the 
reign of grace within their sinless hearts. 
Yes, in very truth they held to the true key 
of happiness, — the life-giving grace of God. 
Ah ! little friends, the service of your gentle 
Master is not meant to be galling. It is not 
meant to be dreary. The inspired writer 
bids us taste and see how sweet is the Lord.” 
Moreover, He has invited his little friends to 
come and find how sweet is His yoke, and 
how light His burden. Oh ! how comfort- 
ing the thought that this world which some 
would call a vale of tears,” can by the magic 


THE MERMAID. 


of grace be made a real Paradise. If some 
who have passed a distance along the path 
of years would term this life a vale of 
tears/’ it is perchance because they stay 
their eyes on the thorns and brambles which 
mat the pathway of sin. It is because they 
have failed to sip the sweetness of grace. 

You, little friends, must look further, and 
you shall hear an inner voice telling you 
that you were created for real solid happi- 
ness in this world as in the next. And this 
solid happiness will be tasted just as long 
as the spirit of grace lives within your soul. 

Amongst your little chums ” is there 
not some particular one, who delights you 
on account of his merry mood ? No doubt 
there is. Well, you just watch that little 
cherub closely and you will learn that the 
secret of it all is, that his young heart is free 
from the taint of sin. That his little feet 
patter frequently to the source of grace. Each 
one of you, my little friends, has, I know, 
the pearl of grace now within his heart. Most 
children have. But oh ! guard it well. Be 
not so unthinking as poor Margarita. Cling 
to it, too, as the riper years come upon 
you. 

Should you then be robbed of it, seek it 
again. It can be redeemed at God’s treasure 
house. Sigh with David, My soul has 
141 


THE MERMAID. 


become sad, I will go up unto the altar of 
God who givetli joy to my youth/^ I will 
close with this little verse which I wrote 
all for you : 

Little hearts ! Little hearts ! as you grow from day 
to day, 

Ah ! life’s blossoms will fall withered and leave 
thorns along your way. 

In the coming years you’ll murmur, 

Oh ! how empty are life’s joys ! 

And you’ll weary of them quickly, 

As you do now of your toys. 

Little hearts again repeat, 

There’s joy alone at Jesus’ feet, 

There’s joy alone at Jesus’ feet. 


142 



Ubc Monbertul ©3one. 

THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. 

The pretty face of little Hilda Sprong had 
grown pale and wan. The light had gone 
out from her bright, blue eyes. Her lips, 
ever so ruddy, had become blanched and life- 
less. The gleaming of the sinking sun lin- 
gered on her face as if to invite her waver- 
ing soul to fly heavenwards and be at rest. 
By her bedside, silent and thoughtful, her 
mother sat, and as the beads wandered 
through her fingers, her lips moved in earnest 
prayer. 

Little Hilda had long been a sufferer from 
the dread disease, consumption. Everything 
that loving hands could do had been done to 
reclaim the little one from an early grave, 
but now, it seemed of no avail. Her Heav- 
enly Lord wanted the little angel, and He was 
leading her gently as the moments passed, 
unto Himself. 

Presently the curtains of Hilda’s room 
were brushed softly to one side and the kind 
face of a young man gladdened her heart with 
a smile. His voice too, was soft and sooth- 
143 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


ing to her restless spirit. How is my little 
darling to-day ? ” he said, as he looked ex- 
pectant for a reply. But no answer was 
given him, so he drew near and resting upon 
one knee, he pushed his fingers with a 
studied movement through the flaxen curls. 
It was the young physician who had labored 
so long to bring his little charge relief. 
Now he spoke more confidently than before. 
Come, look at me, Hilda ! ’’ he said, peer- 
ing into her half-closed eyes. 

See, I have brought with me a wonder- 
ful ozone that will coax the bloom again to 
your pallid cheeks,’’ said he, holding up a 
queer little phial. Whether Hilda heard 
him I know not, but her only response was 
a faint smile that seemed to say, that she 
was whispering sweet secrets with the angels. 
After a moment, the young physician placed 
a silver tube between her languid lips. The 
poor child began, by degrees, to breathe, 
slowly and labored at first, but soon an un- 
wonted light started to gleam from her eyes. 
Now she opened them wide and stared about 
the room. The glow came gradually to her 
face, as the tint of morn comes by the east- 
ern sky. Her mother looked on with clasped 
hands, through scarcely daring to hope. 

That night, as the mother sat in loving 
vigil over her child, a voice whispered to her, 
144 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


she knew not whence it came, that Hilda 
would soon he well again. Perhaps it was 
the Angel Guardian who spoke. As the 
faithful old clock ticked away the dreary 
moments, the mother’s heart grew in courage. 
This confidence so soothed her that she fell 
off to slumber after a time and dreamed that 
Hilda was skipping gaily through the flow- 
ered fields again. 

Across the loving old face, there fluttered 
now and then a smile that seemed like a 
gleam from the wing of a passing angel. 
Some strange spirit now drew softly into the 
room and bending gently over Hilda whis- 
pered some secret to her. Ah ! yes,” the 
wasted little girl answered, “ I would rather 
stay awhile. I fain would go with you but 
I cannot see mother sorrowing.” 

I knew from these words that the spirit 
had invited Hilda to fly with her to Paradise. 
But at her gentle demur, the spirit vanished. 
Night passed and morning came. The tones 
of the Angelus bell floated near and roused 
the little one from slumber. As she looked 
askance, she saw her faithful old guardian 
motionless before her, the lamp still throwing 
its soft halo on her wasted features. 

0 mother, awake. Here comes the 
doctor again,” persuasively whispered the 
little patient, placing her hand softly on that 
lo 145 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


of her mother. 0, the tale of that spirit 
was so sweet ! ” sighed the mother, without 
opening her eyes. I knew from this that the 
comforting spirit had confided sweet things 
to the mother too. 

0,” cried Hilda, I will tell him how 
grateful I feel for what he has done.’’ She 
had not time, however, to finish what she in- 
tended to say before the good doctor stood 
at the foot of the bed smiling at her. 

Yes, my little fairy, you are better, and 
so to-day you must inhale more of that won- 
derful ozone, for it will bear you over the 
crisis.” A week had scarcely passed when 
a little girl with ruddy cheeks and cheery 
laugh was seen to gambol amongst the clover 
blossoms, as they bowed their glad faces to 
her. Some of them went so far as to whisper 
to her, W e’re awful pleased to see you 
again, dearest.” The little girl was Hilda. 

I know you are just as glad as I am, little 
friends, to learn that Hilda is better. For 
it is always a sad thing to hear of death 
stealing away a little girl whose sinless lips 
have just begun to lisp the Name of Him 
she loves the best. I cannot help thinking 
what a generous heart that young physician 
had, who labored so ceaselessly to bring Hilda 
back to perfect health. 

Well now, we will bid a sweet adieu to 
146 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


the doctor and to Hilda. Let us look about 
us and see if there be any little children 
whose souls are growing weak and faint. 
And also if there be at hand a young physi- 
cian who has such a wonderful ozone for the 
soul. Yes, I am pleased to say there is. 
The young physician, you know already. 
He has spoken to you many times as you 
ran playfully by His side. I speak of Jesus, 
friend of the little tots. Has He an ozone, 
too ? Yes indeed, a twofold kind. One is 
His own flesh and blood, the other is His 
grace and gentle blessing. The first kind is 
given to those who are big and strong and 
must go out in the highway and do battle. 
The second kind is inhaled by those whose 
little spiritual systems have not been made 
accustomed as yet to strong remedies. Isn’t 
that nice ! Will He come to me or must I 
go to Him ? Tell me where He keeps this 
blessed ozone ! He will come to you, little 
friends, if your limpid young minds have 
already been impressed with the awful holi- 
ness of His precious ozone, but you must go 
to Him, if you have not been introduced 
to Him, at one of His loving receptions. 

First I will say a few words to those of 
you little folks who have made your first 
holy communion. Turn your thoughts once 
again to the happy scene of your First 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


Communion Day. You recall it with leap- 
ing hearts. Don’t you ? Tell me ! must 
you not confess that of all the moments of 
your lives so far that one was the sweetest. 
Do you not recall that feeling of heavenly 
peace that breathed through your young 
souls that morning ? how near you felt to 
heaven ? You scarcely dared open your eyes 
or part your bps for fear that something 
would steal in and mar the purity of your 
little hearts. Don’t you remember^ too, how 
the breath of music swept through every 
fiber of your being ? And the flowers bowed 
their slender necks and poured out their 
perfume upon you. 

At last, over it all, the little sanctuary bell 
sprinkled its silver notes and then came the 
hush of reverence that told your Beloved had 
come to embrace you with gladness. If an 
angel had appeared and had snatched you 
away for a peep into heaven, you could not 
have been more overjoyed. Now, one by 
one, the timid tapers flickered out. A gentle 
hand startled you from your reverie. You 
passed out of that holy place, as in a pro- 
cession of little angels. As your young 
friends kissed you in congratulation, your 
eyes grew moist, and you betrayed a few 
little tears, but they spoke of an interior joy. 
Tell me, was not that the happiest moment 
148 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


of your lives ? I know it was for me. Did 
you return soon again, children, to see that 
Lord who is imprisoned for you ? As you 
passed the church, did you say, Now, I am 
just going in to have a sweet little heart to 
heart chat with my Dear Lord,” or did the 
day speed by, only to witness your souls 
gradually losing the impress of that First 
Communion Day ? I hope not. 

You may live many years to come, children. 
You may sip the sweetness from every 
blossom that comes by your path. But you 
never again will feel a thrill of joy more 
heavenly than that of your first communion 
day. 

I must not forget ! I promised I would 
say a word to the tots who have not tasted 
of the heavenly ozone as yet. Strange, isn’t 
it ? — The Heavenly Physician wants you to 
toddle to Him. But the journey is not long. 
He yearns for you to come and see Him in 
His house, to have a little talk with Him. 

Sometime ago I chanced to see a bright 
little fellow stealing gently to his mother’s 
side and then fondling with her apron 
strings. At last, encouraged by a sweet 
glance, he buried his little saddened face in 
his mother’s lap, and told her of some great 
afiliction that had just befallen him. Some 
boon companion had wounded his loyal heart 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


because of a blunt refusal to share his choc- 
olate candy. The presence of a red mark, 
too, on his cheek, betrayed the fact that the 
erstwhile friend had struck him. 

An arm made strong by love now reached 
out and folded about the young unfortunate. 
He was lifted up and the balm of a sweet 
kiss instantly soothed all pain, and the salty 
tears were dried again. I said to myself — 
What a strange little Christian that is ! in- 
stead of bothering his busied mother, why 
did he not skip away to the tabernacle and 
drawing close, lisp to the Child’s Friend the 
tale of woe ? Then a sweet draught of ozone 
would have been given, and Our Lord would 
have been made glad too. 

A saintly man once said Our Lord gets 
jealous when he sees little folk going to 
others for solace and forgetting Him. It 
may not be so, but I believe it any way. 

Have you never thought, little children, 
how Jesus dwells in the tabernacle as the 
days and years pass by, longing for some of 
His little friends to come to Him. You re- 
call how, when He was on earth. He would 
seek out the children and play with them in 
their own fashion. He would do that still, 
but He cannot. He is imprisoned, and so 
you must go to Him. 

I imagine, as Jesus remains in His House of 
150 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


Love and sees little feet hurrying by without 
stopping, that He is made recall His bitter 
imprisonment in the dungeon of Annas the 
night before His Passion. You naturally 
ask, where were all the little folks who grew 
so fond of Jesus as he walked amongst them? 
Perhaps the soldiers wouldn’t let them in. 
0 yes, that may be. 

You have not that excuse, have you, little 
friends ? He longs for his little lovers to-day, 
so go to Him. They say, but I really doubt 
it, that a tiny sanctuary lamp one night see- 
ing that no one came to visit Our Lord, be- 
gan to grow sad at this. Dear Lord,” it 
whispered, ‘‘ my life is not very long, it con- 
sumes but a few hours, but whatever warmth 
it has I give it to Thee.” I wonder how 
many little friends of mine can express truth- 
fully this same sentiment to Jesus. I know 
of one whom each day the twilight sees go- 
ing to the gate where his Master dwells and 
saying : 

“ I wish I were the little key 
That locks Love’s Captive in 
And lets him out to go and free 
A sinful heart from sin. 

‘ ‘ I wish I were the little bell 
That tinkles for the Host 
When Christ comes down each day to dwell 
With hearts he loves the most. 

151 


THE WONDERFUL OZONE. 


“ I wish I were the little flowers 
So near the Host’ sweet face, 

Or, like the light that through the hours 
Burn on the shrine of Grace. 

“ But, oh! My Lord, I wish the most 
' That my poor heart may be 

A home all holy for each Host 
That comes in love to me.” 

When she had finished this little greeting, 
I heard a sio^h of relief breathe from the 
tabernacle door. Perhaps I was mistaken, 
but a voice seemed to say, I have, at least, 
one little lover who is true.” 


152 


Ube H>raina on tbe fountain Uop. 

MORNING OFFERING. 

There is no use in serious people scoffing 
at the belief held by so many of us little 
folks that fairies and goblins and such like, 
do really exist. Our faith in these creatures 
of fancy is as old as human nature itself, and 
that is pretty old, as you all know. 

Well, here is a tale of a pretty fairy, and 
as far as I recollect, I have never told it be- 
fore. Some children seem to hold to the 
belief that all fairies are good for, is to 
frolic and fritter away the hours of life. In 
truth, this is not quite just, for there are 
fairies who spend their lives in doing many 
deeds of kindness, I know. 

On the top of a shaggy old mountain (as 
the story goes) a very comely fairy named 
Nina once lived. Funny place for a fairy 
to live, wasn’t it ! Nobody could tell whence 
she came. One little fellow declared that 
he saw her drop from a star one still night, 
but no one believes that now. However, 
it is said that she warded off from the village 
people below, many a lightning stroke, and 
153 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


veered away many an angry storm. This 
is doing good, I am sure. Well, the sweet 
days of summer came and went. Autumn 
had just begun to give her delicate tints to 
the leaves when a strange thing happened, 
so I am told by one who saw it. 

Darkness was creeping on and the birds 
were twittering their good-nights to one an- 
other as they settled in their nests, when 
Nina came softly out of her hiding-place on 
the mountain top. She looked stealthily 
about her for an instant to make sure that 
no one w^as nigh, then fixed her gaze on the 
pale moon as he pushed his way lazily through 
the mists of night. She began, after a time, 
to sing to the moon a sweet song, the melody 
of which I have since forgotten. When the 
the last echo had lost itself in the valley, she 
stooped down and picking up a curious old 
vase, she held it at arm’s length and touch- 
ing it with her wand, she took up the thread 
of her song, and began to chant more sweetly 
than ever. From the neck of the vase there 
now began to curl out slowly, a fume of the 
sweetest odor. It coiled itself into different 
forms for the time, that were indeed wonder- 
ful to behold. At last, it took the guise of 
an angel and so real was it that I waited 
breathlessly for it to speak, but it did some- 
thing more wonderful than speak. It rose 
154 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


in the air, as a spirit leaving the body. I 
could see the fairy nowhere now, nor was the 
vase visible. But the newly-formed angel 
soared higher and heavenward and I saw in 
.its snow-white hands, a cluster of precious 
pearls, where they came from I could never 
tell. The moon now stopped and looked 
over his specs at the strange event, and 
what do you think : his dreamy eyes met 
mine as I stared upward. 

His round face broadened into a smile, for 
I must have appeared ridiculous. Did 
you see that wonderful thing ? ” I asked. 

Yes, yes,’’ said the moon, seemingly 
amused at my bewilderment. But if you 
saw that little drama as often as I, perhaps 
it would not excite you so much. I behold 
it every night I roam the sky. And I am 
surprised, little chubby,” he said, looking at 
me with eyes that opened many miles wide, 
that you do not know that you possess a 
power just as wonderful as that fairy.” 
Then he pushed his big face behind a cloud, 
as though he were pouting at me. 

I now scrambled down the mountain-side 
almost forgetting my own name, so wrought 
up was I. As my feet touched the plain, j 
met, face to face, a comely shepherd-boy, 
playing on his lute to woo slumber. I told 
him of my weird experience and how the 
155 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


moon had scolded me. He must have been 
a pious boy, for, throwing his arms fondly 
about me, he thus unraveled my story : 
‘^Your good Father in Heaven,” said he, 
talking as would a young priest, has al- 
lowed this little drama to drift into your life 
for a purpose. Each event you have seen 
has attached to it a symbol. 

The fairy on the mountain peak, pictures 
the sinless child, who is just so prominent in 
God’s eyes. He beholds him night and day. 
That child, too, has the power of warding 
off evils from those about him by the magic 
incense of prayer.” “ ’Tis well, good shep- 
herd,” said I, but what of the vase and the 
angel ? 0, tell me of them.” The fairy 
holding out the vase with eyes fixed sweetly 
on the heavens, is a figure of the child who 
hold, up a spiritual vase each morning to his 
Lord in Heaven, and lisps the fervent prayer : 
‘ Accept from me. Gentle Master, all my 
thoughts, words and actions of this day.’ 
And the angel of that little one, fluttering 
to Heaven offers the gift of that young 
heart at the Throne of Grace. Thus, do I 
pray each morning as I roam the plains with 
my sheep.” But, why did the moon scold 
me for not knowing all this ? ” asked the 
child, laying his hand softly on the shep- 
herd’s arm. But the little chap felt that 
156 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


the moon’s big eyes were still on him, so he 
kissed the young shepherd in gratitude and 
scampered off homeward a wiser and better 
boy. 

I know not where the chubby little chap 
now lives who had so thrilling an experience 
on the mountain top. If I did, I would 
press him to come and tell you in better 
form than I have done, what wondrous 
things he beheld on that memorable night. 
I rather think, though, he is dead, since the 
facts of the tale I tell happened quite fifty 
years ago. 

But now when I reflect, 1 wonder why 
the world should have grown so excited over 
a fairy transforming a fume into an angel, 
which I doubt was an angel at all. You, 
little folks, can do something just as magical 
by the power of your wills. You can change 
your ordinary actions of the day into so 
many golden grains by simply making your 
morning offering, by saying at the dawn of 
each day as the shepherd boy was wont to 
do : My Saviour, all that I do and suffer 
this day will be for love of you.” 

St. John, the beloved disciple, tells us 
that in one of his visions he saw spirits of 
surpassing beauty standing before the throne 
of God. In their hands they clasped golden 
phials and from these there breathed the 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


sweetest odors, and these he tells us were 
the offerings of daily prayers and deeds that 
came from sainted little hearts who dwelt on 
earth. 

Now I suppose you want me to tell you 
just in what form you should address your 
daily offerings. Well, just as soon as your 
little eyes open from their slumber, thank 
God for having preserved you during the 
night, to bless Him another day. Then, as 
the birds begin to twitter near your window 
and the sun begins to spread his glory 
through the world, think how good your 
Lord is and how little He asks of you. Then 
say : 0 my Saviour ! I offer to Thee this 

day all that I am, and all that I may do. 
Every prayer and sigh and word and work, 
will be for love of Thee.” Then frequently 
during the day, let your little minds drift back 
to the moment of prayer. As you romp about 
in your merry games, you can blend with 
your notes of laughter the words of St. Paul : 

Whatever I do this day in word or work, 
I will do in the name of Our Lord Jesus 
Christ.” Your every movement will thus 
receive a spiritual coloring, your every little 
smile or prank will be as pleasing to your 
Lord as though you spent the day on your 
knees before His tabernacle. 

There once lived an old Philosopher, who 
158 , 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


though very learned, was yet very poor. 
Neither had he a fixed abode, but wandered 
through the world teaching to mankind the 
secret of real happiness. However, he never 
felt the pang of want, and he was ever in 
merry mood. This is the reason why. He 
carried with him a curious stone which held 
the secret power of turning whatever sub- 
stance it touched into rarest gold. They 
say that in his latter days he grew very 
wealthy but, unlike most rich men, he re- 
mained very wise. Now, little friends, you 
have no such magic stone in your bosoms. 
But, by the power of this little morning sigh, 
you can lay up in your little bank in heaven, 
grains of gold that will be used to adorn 
your crown when you shall have been called 
home by the Master. 

Many of the saints, we are told, wept as 
they saw, now and then, the indifference of 
men in regard to their eternal salvation. 

See,” said they, how men toil to grasp the 
gold of earth. But alas ! in Heaven they 
have stored no treasures. ^^0, what doth 
it profit a man to gain the whole world and 
suffer the loss of his soul ? ” This is the 
question you must put to yourselves when 
tempted to run after earthly gain to the 
neglect of your souFs treasures. 

I am going to close this little talk, children, 
159 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


by telling you of a sweet little drama that I 
had the good fortune to witness myself : — As 
I knelt in the sanctuary one morning, a 
gentle sigh came breathing through the holy 
air. I turned my eyes and I saw two little 
hands clasped in earnest prayer. Two tear- 
stained little eyes sent their pleading to the 
tabernacle. The young stranger must have 
caught an echo of the Master’s sweet words : 

Come to me, all ye who labor, and are 
heavily burdened.” 

A few moments elapsed and the noise of 
soft footfalls sounded through the church. 
Closer did they come, until they ushered in 
a little girl of ten summers. She was fair 
of face and prettily dressed. Her tiny 
fingers clasped a bouquet of roses. The little 
form swung haughtily past the figure in 
prayer and going straightway to the altar, 
she laid the flowers on the spotless cloth. 
She then turned and scampered out again 
into the busy street. Now, I noticed a 
sadness very strange had come over the boy’s 
face. 0 Lord,” he sighed, I have no 
flowers to give you. But beneath my tattered 
coat I hold a heart that loves You. Take it 
and keep it always.” He then lifted his 
sleeve to brush away a tear, and you know, 
children, tears do not always bespeak sorrow. 

I think, without me saying a word, you 
160 


THE DRAMA ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP. 


know which of these two gifts was the more 
pleasing to our Saviour. I who am having 
this little chat with you, my little friends, 
may never see you in the world. But let us 
both work to ofPer, not only a passing day 
but our entire lives to serving the Master 
who loves us so. Then, although never 
possessing the gold of the world, we will 
have stored an abundance of heavenly 
treasure, which will be ours to enjoy when 
this short strife is ended. 


161 


TOc lPfper=iFoi. 


TEMPTATION. 

Thousands of miles away from here, there 
is another planet, so they say, poised in the 
air just as this earth is, upon which there 
live only birds and animals of every type 
and some other queer creatures that have 
not been named as yet. I have no doubt the 
animals who dwell on this far-ofE sphere 
have about the same tricks and tendencies, 
as those who roam hereabout in our own 
woodlands. In fact, I not only surmise it, I 
know it surely. For the following little 
tragedy will prove it. 

It was told to me by a dusty moth who, 
fearing the sentence of death for some 
misdeed, fluttered away, and after flying for 
months and months, reached the earth and so 
came across me. He was a cute, talkative 
little chap, very interesting indeed. This is 
the story he told me of a deceitful old fox 
who, I am now convinced, is related to that 
same family of sly rascals who live on our 
planet. 

It is said that foxes love romances, any- 
16 ^ 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


thing in fact, to break the monotony of life. 
So thus the old villain of whom I speak, 
thought that he could gain entrance into 
the birdie’s bower, if he were to garb him- 
self, as a fairy. Now, what do you think of 
that? So one day the moth said, with the 
help of a friendly kangaroo, he dressed him- 
seK in a flimsy gown, and so well was the 
work done, that it passed under the closest 
inspection, as you will learn. Daybreak 
had scarcely flung its gleam across the east- 
ern sky when Mr. Fox crept through the 
thicket, and no one, I feel sure, would ever 
doubt that he was a real fairy, so prettily 
was he attired. Under his arm, he held a 
silver pipe. Whence he got it, goodness 
knows. He skipped across the brook just as 
nimbly as a water-spite. 

After a time, he began to play on his 
pipe. The music was strange in tone, yet 
you could call it quite sweet. Now, you 
must know that Miss Moth is a critic of 
music. Indeed, flocks of birds sat on the 
nearest limbs to listen to the piping fairy. 
The sleepy-head rabbits, too, stuck up their 
ears and thought to themselves, Who can 
this early minstrel be ? ” But here, little 
friends, I must remark the strongest feature 
of all was this, that the old fox’s music had 
the power of spell-binding. It held those 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


who listened to it in a perfect enchantment 
so that even though they willed it or not, 
they were bound to follow the old rascal 
whithersoever he chose to lead them. 

After an hour or so, many hundreds of 
twittering birds and frisky chipmunks, were 
skipping after the piper-fox, through branch 
and over hedge, just as children in crowds 
follow the street players now-a-days, forget- 
ful of their homes. Never a bit did he 
slacken his tune, nor even once did he look 
behind him for fear he would be recognized. 
By this time, he was drawing near to the 
gates of wicker that stood before his castle. 
He ceased at length to play, and bowing low, 
invited all those who had followed him to 
enter and share a sumptuous meal. But 
never a foot did one of them stir.” 

I am so glad of that ! ” said I. “ But 
wait,” said Miss Moth, catching again the 
thread of her story. “At this juncture, the 
rascal in fairy dress took up his pipe again, 
and began to toot the strangest air that ever 
rang through the forest of that planet far 
away. As he did so, he danced through the 
gates himself, and lo ! with him tumbled the 
birds and rabbits as though unable to cast the 
spell from them ! Now they had entered,” 
sighed Miss Moth, with a sweet sigh that I 
just could hear. 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


‘^The grinning old fox at this time laughed 
aloud with a wicked laugh, and throwing off 
his disguise, said, ^ Now you are in my 
power, pretty ones ! The winter is coming 
on and I need food,’ and so many of the 
poor birdies were put to death. But the old 
fiend had no heart, for even then did he play 
on his pipe and make merry as before.” 

This doleful tale having been confided to 
me. Miss Moth fluttered away from the 
palm of my hand whereon she had been sit- 
ting as she spoke. The last I saw of her 
she was sailing straightway for the river. 
Suddenly she faded from my view. I have 
not since seen her. I hope no harm has be- 
fallen her, for the story she told me will 
ever live in my memory. 

How I grieve when I think what a sad 
ending these poor little birds had. Their 
lives were so merry, their death so lonely. 
But just think, little friends, how much 
sadder it would have been had this fate be- 
fallen children instead of birds or rabbits. 
For this reason, I rejoice that no child in- 
habits that far-off sphere. 

Now, do not grow alarmed when I tell you 
that a calamity just as sad comes betimes, 
upon little folks who dwell upon the earth ; 
mind you, not little birds, but little folks. 
This is what I mean : — The Devil, the prince 
1G5 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


of foxes, stalks out of Ills gloomy abode each 
day, and robing himself in finery that he 
thinks will catch the fancy of some poor 
child, he goes along the highways of life 
playing a tune very like the one the fox 
played. He paints sin in the most gaudy 
colorings and, sad to say, many children are 
beguiled and skip to his piping and thus be- 
come slaves to his power, as the birds did to 
the fox’s. But, unlike your little feathery 
friends, you children may be tempted but 
you cannot become bewitched. The old de- 
ceiver may cast his spells about you, but 
prayer, and the sign of the cross, can break 
them all. 

Prayer, then, will ever be your shield 
through which Satan cannot send his poi- 
sonous darts. You have, perchance, seen 
a hailstorm. How those little stones sting 
your face when they strike it ! But if you 
raise your umbrella, then you can laugh to 
yourself as they patter away on its roof in 
a feeble attempt to reach you. Temptation, 
then, you must know, is but a hailstorm. 
And prayer is your shield, your umbrella, 
to ward it off. 

Here again, I cannot help turning my 
thoughts to these poor little birds, their fate 
has so depressed me. Ah ! had they been 
wise, they would have said to themselves 
166 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


when they realized they were being beguiled 
from their happy glens, No, we will never 
leave our bower of quiet and peace to follow 
a stranger, for heaven knows whither he is 
going to lead us.’’ So you, little friends, if 
you are truly wise, will not run after the 
tempter’s bidding, no matter how sweet it 
may appear. For the end is ever the same, 
tears and remorse. 

0 ! I wish I could make you realize that 
the tempter is ever lurking about in dark 
places so that you might be the more watch- 
ful. Yes, watchful is the word, for we who 
are older can assure you that your tempta- 
tions are going to extend beyond the pale 
of childhood. So you must become schooled 
in the art of self-defense. Learn how to 
repel the old Fox, the Devil, so that he may 
never deceive you away from beneath Christ’s 
mantle of gentle care that is now tenderly 
held over your curly little heads. 

1 once heard of a merry little lad who 
sailed away in a vessel, the sails and body 
of which were of dazzling white. An angel, 
it is said, guided this craft for a time, lead- 
ing it along softly by silken cords. At 
length, I know not why, the silly boy cut 
these cords and the angel soared heaven- 
ward. 

For a time, the timid craft moved along, 
167 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


truly as before. But after many hours, a 
monster whom I have since learned was 
Scylla, stood on the shore. She cast an 
assuring smile at the young sailor, who, 
thinking her his friend, steered his bark 
within range of her ponderous arms. 

She instantly took the helm and striking 
the boy dumb by some weird passes, she 
veered his bark into the whirlpool of Charyb- 
dis. Here the waters boiled and foamed as 
though stirred by a devil’s trident. In a 
twinkling, that pretty httle vessel, guided 
but a few hours ago by an angel hand, was 
dashed with its precious burden into a thou- 
sand fragments. The moral of this tale is 
plain, little friends. Once you turn from 
the angel of grace and allow yourselves to be 
lead by temptation into the power of the 
devil, your ruin will be rapid and inevita- 
ble. 

Holy persons have ever called this life a 
warfare. This terming may seem strange 
to you now. At present, life appears full of 
peace and merriment. As yet, you cannot 
grasp what baneful effects follow on the 
yielding to temptation. But your little 
hearts will not ever be so. Later years will 
reveal to you the fact that life is one con- 
tinual struggle between the powers of your 
souls and the base tendencies of your bodies. 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


And wise and peaceful of heart will be ever, 
he, who fights temptation and keeps his soul 
untainted by sin. 

I am rather sorry now, little friends, that 
I told you that temptation will taunt you 
through future years. I had rather left you 
innocent of this vexing prospect. But never 
mind, why should I worry since I know you 
will be brave ? 

The Angel Raphael once said to Tobias, 

Because thou are acceptable to God, it 
is necessary that temptation should prove 
these.” Now I see it all. Your Father in 
Heaven wishes you to be proven a good 
soldier in this life, so that your crown may 
be the brighter in the world to come. A 
very sweet little saint advises boys and girls 
never to trifle with temptation. I wonder 
what he can mean. Now it dawns on me. 
He wishes to tells us, that we should never 
allow the tempter to argue with us. For, in 
his cunning way, he can make us view sin 
through the wrong end of the telescope, so 
that it will appear very trifling. 

Here is another little bit of advice for my 
little friends. You must keep aloof from 
the persons and occasions that prove a source 
of temptation to you. I would blush to 
think you had no more sense than the silly 
moth who, with his flimsy wings, goes soar- 
169 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


ing about the flame^ encircling it closer and 
closer, until finally, he is drawn in and 
scorched to a crisp. The moral of all this 
is plain enough. 

The first form of temptation I think you 
will experience as you pass along the years, 
will be that of thought. As you sit, lost in 
dreaming some day, the devil will steal close 
by you and drop into your little mind some 
fantasy that will not be very nice. What 
will you do then ? Why, just beat the old 
boy at his own game. Just begin to fill up 
your busy brains with chaste and holy 
thoughts. 

Think of the sweetness of Mary. Dwell 
on the beauty of Jesus. Bless yourself rev- 
erently. And then, just as a cork will rise 
to the brim of a vessel and pass away when 
you fill that vessel with water ; so will un- 
clean thoughts be forced out of your minds, 
as you fill them with the pure waters of 
pious meditation. 

Little friends, I will never be forced to 
admit that children can be cowards. Never ! 
Still I have heard it said that some of them 
grow weary now and then of following their 
Divine Master along the thorny way. How 
long, O Lord, must I keep up this combat,” 
some have been heard to sigh. If such 
there be, now really, I cannot condemn him. 

170 


THE PIPER-FOX. 


It is hard to be ever clad in mail and tasses, 
to be fighting day after day. But never 
mind^ you are fighting under a Leader who 
has once laid down His life for you and the 
least you might do in return is to show 
loyalty to His standard. 

Then too. He tells every little soldier who 
toddles after Him as He told St. Paul of old, 

My grace is sufficient for thee.” And He 
says, Call to me in time of trouble.” Re- 
flect again, little friends, that through all 
your life, you will never be tempted above 
your strength. Therefore, if you let the old 
Fox conquer you, it will be because you are 
cowardly and wanting in vigilance. You 
have a gentle Mother, too, in Mary. When 
you hear the voice of temptation, run to 
Mary, she will throw her arms about you, so 
that you can neither hear nor see the 
tempter. Then you may be sure of remain- 
ing unharmed. Remember, finally, little 
dears, that in the bright Heaven above you 
there is a golden crown awaiting you. If 
you be valiant in conquering the tempter 
now, that crown will one day be placed upon 
your head before the court of Paradise. 0, 
this is a prize, surely, worth striving for 1 
St. James declares this crowning shall surely 
take place, When he hath been proven, 
he shall receive the crown of fife.” So ; 

171 


fHE PIPER-FOX. 


Fear not, my child I 
Though the waves are white and high 
And the storm blows wild 
Through the gloomy sky ; 

On the edge of the western sea 
See the line of golden light 
Is the haven bright 
Where home is awaiting thee ; 

When this peril passed, 

We shall rest from our stormy voyage 
In peace at last.” 


172 


JLbc iPeUcan’s (Boo& I)ee5. 


VILE WORDS AND JESTS. 

As everybody knows and is ready to ad- 
mit, in the long ago there were birds and 
snails and serpents that could talk ; not, for- 
sooth, in a language which children could 
fathom, but in a funny jargon understood 
by themselves alone. Some folks posing as 
very wise will question the truth of what I 
say, but no child will doubt my word for a 
reason so slight as that. So here is my 
story : — and if you find it untrue, I will not 
expect you to ever believe me again. 

In far-off Arabia, the land of weird hap- 
penings and uncanny things generally, an 
old Sultan once lived, and as is usually the 
case with Sultans, he had about his palace 
every delight that one’s heart could pant for, 
and that means a great deal. There were 
wonders peculiar to royal life that story-books 
for children especially, could never mention. 
Here the wizard old ruler found time to give 
reign to the unruly longings of his heart, 
and these were very many. Now, this stony- 
173 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


hearted old sovereign had a son whose name 
I will not attempt to pronounce. Report 
still has it that, unlike his father, the son 
was sweet-tempered, and held in contempt 
those pastimes in which his progenitor rev- 
eled. For this do I laud the son, whatever 
his name may be. Now, notwithstanding 
the goodness of his offspring, the royal old 
father was very cruel to his son. He even 
forced him apart from the palace and made 
him live in a little rustic house that was better 
fitted as a dwelling-place for spooks than for 
a child. 

The little fellow, too, had to study strange 
problems about the moon and stars, and so you 
will not wonder, when you hear that he 
would sit at night by the hour on a stile and 
look curiously up at the planets, and then 
again at the reflection in the water. Why 
he did this I am not able to explain. Men 
of figures are wont to do strange things at 
all times, you know. 

One night, he sat in the haunted place I 
have already mentioned and peered up at the 
moon so intently, I thought surely it had en- 
chanted him. But no ! for, after a time, I 
noticed his head drop upon his breast and he 
fell fast asleep. A queer-looking old bird 
perched above him and opened its eyes very 
wide as it stared at him in a funnv sort of 
174 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


way. It seemed to say, What a foolish 
hoy that is to sleep out in this place so infested 
by lizards and reptiles.” But it was mean 
of that old bird not to warn the unconscious 
slumberer of his danger. So I will never 
think well of old birds again. 

Pretty soon a graceful phantom of purest 
white began to glide over to the lonely boy. 
As it drew closer, I could see it was a downy 
pelican. It rustled its wings a few times and 
the boy awoke. Now you may not believe 
me, little friends, but the pelican began to 
speak in the oriental language : 

‘‘ Do not sit here, little stranger,” it said, 
turning its head queerly to one side. Over 
yonder, a brood of serpents skulk in hiding. 
Should one of them come hither and hiss at 
you as you sleep, your fair face would be 
blighted forever. 

At this revelation, the young listener’s 
eyes opened as large as toad-stools. He 
seemed really to have understood what the 
pelican had said. Can I believe my ears ! ” 
was all he could gasp. Just then a hissing 
sound came close to him. ‘‘ The serpent ! 
The serpent ! ” he muttered. The pelican 
spoke aright. I must run away.” And so 
his little feet went in haste to his castle of 
tanglewood. And I am glad to say the 
wicked reptile did not mar his youthful 
175 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


beauty, thanks to the pelican’s timely warn- 
ing. 

Now, when the selfish old Sultan heard of 
what a good service the pelican had rendered 
to his son, he decreed that it should be fed 
on golden corn ever afterwards. In the 
course of years, it is stated that the noble bird 
consumed many millions worth of golden 
corn, hut no matter ; he had deserved it. The 
ruler too, sent a message to the crown-heads 

0 f every kingdom in the then-known world, 
telling them what a precious bird he has 
found the pelican to be. 

From that day to this, the pelican, as you 
have noticed, will not deign to swim in the 
same pond with a duck or a goose. It must 
have crystal water of its own, and golden 
corn, at least. I am glad to tell you too, 
that on the next day the ill-fated son was 
received by his royal father into the castle 
and placed in a gorgeous room. So you see 
after all, the pelican has had a hand in mak- 
ing the history of the world and in molding 
the destinies of nations. 

I will always be kind to pelicans whenever 

1 meet them in future for they are thought- 
ful and true. 

Now I would like to be as thoughtful and 
unselfish as the white pelican. So I am going 
to warn you, little friends, of a certain danger 
176 


THE PELICAN'S GOOD DEED. 


that lurks in your path and perhaps to which 
you have given little heed heretofore. The 
poisened sting of a serpent is indeed, some- 
thing to be dreaded by every child. But 
the moral sting of an unclean tongue is an 
evil against which you should guard your- 
selves no less diligently. 

W e know that the most deadly of reptiles 
are often found loitering near the sweetest 
of flowers, so too, do we not infrequently find 
children of unclean speech among the purest 
and most guileless of little ones. I grieve 
to talk in this way, but experience has opened 
my eyes. Now, I am very well aware that 
there are not many young folks, who bear 
the glad title Friend of the Child Jesus,’’ 
who knowingly use words or jests that are 
immodest. But as you pass along the streets 
to and from your homes, you may perchance 
meet with those who are unguarded in speech 
and who give voice, now and then, to jests 
at which a good child would be forced to 
blush. 

What a pity this is ! and how frequently 
nowadays are the guardian angels made to 
weep, as they turn away their ears. But 
perhaps you will say, 0 yes ! It is true 
I have heard some children using evil words, 
but that would never have any effect on my 
mind or heart. 


12 


177 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


Do not be so confident, little friends. You 
cannot knowingly hearken to immodest words 
without, in a degree, being affected by them. 
You have heard of some of your little neigh- 
bors, going through woodland and dell, 
picking flowers. Some quick, little eye will 
catch sight of a slender green vine, that 
creeps softly up the side of a moldering 
rock. Instantly a tiny hand, spotless per- 
haps as a lily, will reach out to pluck the 
leaves that are so enticing. There is no 
evidence of taint on the moment, but after a 
few fleeting hours a feverish rash will have 
spread over that little hand, then a painful 
swelling will show itself. Then only does 
the unthinking little chap whisper to him- 
self, Alas ! I am poisoned ! 

V ery like this does moral poison act, little 
friends. Be wary then of the first contact 
if you would keep your young hearts free 
from the moral taint of poison. 

In the long ago, those poor wretches, 
upon whom had fallen the loathsome malady 
called leprosy, were forced to hold aloof 
from the wholesome people of the city, and 
whenever they had occasion to approach the 
gates, they were forced to call out in a voice 
trembling in sadness, Unclean ! Unclean ! ” 
so that those untouched by the plague could 
hasten away ere they came within the zone 
178 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


of danger. How just it would be, if the evil 
speaker were to be treated as the lepers were 
in days of old ! How meet it would be, if all 
their companions would call out as they drew 
nigh, Unclean ! Unclean ! ’’ 

If it is true that from the abundance of 
the heart the mouth speaketh,’^ how devoid 
of all purity and sweetness must be the hearts 
of those children who are ever voicing vile 
words and lewd jests. 

One day, as I stood by the casement, I 
held up a glass of pure and limpid water 
and let the sun’s golden rays pour through 
it. Instantly, it seemed to me as though a 
thousand diamonds had sprung into life. 
For, on the moment, there began to sparkle, 
what seemed to me, gems of a myriad form 
and color. They seemed every instant to 
change their variety and hue. 

And so, I mused to myself, how hidden 
and unknown are the beauties of nature, 
when her simplest creatures are so surpass- 
ingly lovely. But I had scarcely finished 
my reflections when, in placing the glass on 
the desk, I let fall into it a few drops of ink. 
Alas ! the virgin water which an instant 
before had so charmed my soul, now dis- 
gusted me, for it had become murky and 
ugly, and I sighed, This is indeed a type of 
a sinless young soul whose purity is suddenly 
179 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


smirched by having breathed in the foul 
words of unchastity. And I have since 
learned that my reflections were correct. 

At Christmas time, little friends, when our 
thoughts are borne to Bethlehem by the wings 
of angels, we marvel at the privilege that 
was given to the young shepherd boys, of 
drawing nigh to the Divine Infant and kiss- 
ing his little forehead, while tears of grati- 
tude glistened on their hardy cheeks. And 
yet how closely allied to this, is the grace 
that is bestowed on you, dear children, of 
having that same sweet Divine Child rest 
upon your hearts in Holy Communion. 0, 
how chaste should be the lips and sinless the 
hearts that are to be the reposing place of 
Him before whom the angels seem not with- 
out stain ! 

And yet, here is where your hearts will 
sigh. Are there not some little Christians 
who will give voice every day in the week to 
words and jests that savor of un chastity and 
then on Grace Day ” draw nigh to the 

Feast of Love,’’ while even the echoes of 
their sordid words have scarcely died away. 

0 what a wretched child must be he who 
would do this ! For myself, I do not believe 
that a child of that type thrives in this part 
of the world. Still, I have heard that such 
do. 


180 


THE PELICAN'S GOOD DEED. 


I see betimes, as I steal into the “ Master’s 
House/’ little hands placing lihes near the 
tabernacle. Let your lips always, little 
friends, be as the calix of that lovable flower, 
white, and spotless, and your hearts hke its 
rod, shining like gold, with the love of all 
that is pure and clean in this life. 

I know of many little boys and girls who, 
before they run off to school each morning, 
will throw their tiny arms about their 
mothers’ neck and kiss them good-bye for 
the day. I wonder if some mothers would 
bestow this mark of affection on their 
children if they knew how soiled those tiny 
lips had become with the use of sordid 
words. I am sure they would not. 

You have seen, I am sure, the touching 
picture of St. John, the young and fair dis- 
ciple whom J esus loved, and who, above all, 
had the privilege of resting his head on the 
bosom of Our Dear Lord, on the night of 
His Passion. Why was this sign of tender- 
ness given to the Beloved Disciple ? It was, 
I am sure, because no word of defilement had 
ever passed his lips and no thought of sin 
had ever tainted his soul. If you would 
draw so near Our Blessed Lord, then, little 
friends, let your words and thoughts be ever 
as St. John’s were. 

If there be one of my young listeners who 
181 


THE PELICAN’S GOOD DEED. 


has been using evil words or jests heretofore, 
I ask that one to reflect. Take your crucifix 
in your hand. See the wounds made in the 
virginal brow of your Saviour. See how 
His sweet lips are bruised and swollen. 
These pains he suffered to expiate your sins 
of vile word. Do not, for His sake, open 
those wounds again, but rather kiss them 
tenderly as the tears of regret start to your 
eyes. 


182 


Ube Minotaur. 


THE CROSS. 

I WAS reclining in an arm-chair, one even- 
ing in my study, just at twilight. My eyes 
were lightly closed ; and through my mind 
there came coursing fantasies of those things 
I had been reading in my ancient history. 
Suddenly, there stood before me, what I 
took to be an angel. But, then, I mused, I 
had not the piety requisite for such a gra- 
cious visitor. Who the visitor was I can- 
not tell — if one at all. Without adieu, he 
began to narrate a tale that at first made 
my blood chill. But it all ended so hap- 
pily I vowed I would tell it to you, little 
friends, the first chance I got : — 

“ It seems, said the spirit, “ that on the 
island of Crete, there lived a certain dread- 
ful monster. This hideous being was 
shaped partly like a man and partly like a 
bull. It was such an unsightly sort of 
creature that it is really disagreeable to, 
think of him. He had been placed there 
by the tyrant Crudelis, many years before^ 


THE MINOTAUR. 


and thither this vile monarch would send 
those children who in any way displeased 
him and the minotaur would devour 
them.” 

King Crudelis, held sway for fifty years, 
and then died — you won’t shed any tears 
at that news, I am sure — but during his 
reign, the man-brute grew and grew until 
latterly, even an army of soldiers could not 
overcome him. Knowing that the whole 
of Greece lay trembling at his feet, the 
minotaur laughed with a coarse laugh that 
shook the hills and ruffled the waters for 
miles around. 

But he declared — no thanks to him — 
that he would not destroy the nation, pro- 
vided that once a year, ten of the fairest 
maidens of Greece be sent to him on which 
to sate his passion for blood. What a hor- 
rid old fiend he must have been ! Now for 
five weary years, had his wish been com- 
plied with — and many were the fair lassies 
whose tender forms he strewed along the 
sands of the shore. Then the sea would 
come and gently lift their mangled bodies 
and take them unto her bosom. The sea is 
good-hearted, after all. 

Now the day of misery had again rolled 
around when by lot, ten slender victims 
were to be chosen. The sobs and groans 


THE MINOTAUR. 


and shrieks with which the city was filled 
were, in truth, awful, for each fond parent 
feared her daughter might be chosen. And 
the damsels themselves were chilled with 
terror as the fateful hour drew nigh. 

By nightfall, the allotment had taken 
place, and the maidens on whom had fallen 
the hand of fate stood on the shore like 
resolute martyrs, waiting amidst the mufi[led 
groans of loved ones, for the black-sailed 
craft to bear them away forever. Presently 
an outcry startled the stricken crowed. The 
clatter of horses’ feet grew each moment 
more distinct. Now, through the somber 
line of trees, there came dashing a gallant 
knight. From his helmet there flowed a 
delicate plume of the chastest white. On 
the breast of his armor, a cross of gold 
showed its form in the gentle moonlight. 
His features were passing fair and inspir- 
ing. "‘Hold, my timid damsels,” he cried, 
with a ringing voice, and he drew a flaming 
sword from its scabbard. 

‘'You weep, you tremble at the call of 
the minotaur. But he shall not harm you 
more ! In this sign shall you conquer ! ” 
quoth he, holding on high a cross that 
threw a calm light on the thousands of up- 
turned faces. 

They say there are no words in any Ian- 
185 


THE MINOTAUR. 


guage strong enough to set forth the wild 
joy that followed on this thrilling speech, 
and I don’t doubt it. 

Now almost unobserved, there stole unto 
its moorings the minotaur’s vessel, like a 
phantom-ship, and its sails were of deepest 
black. “ Come, my damsels,” said the noble 
stranger, “let us embark. We will sail 
across the sea, but mark ye, in this sign 
shall we conquer the dragon of blood.” 
And so to the vessel did they move, these 
slender maidens — not with tears and la- 
ments as of yore, but with peans of joy. 
Along the cliff -heights stood the populace 
with searching eyes till the boat passed 
into the night. But the echoes that stole 
back over the slumbering sea told that a 
song of victory was being chanted. 

The hours tolled slowly by. No one 
slumbered that night throughout all Greece. 
But morning came at last and from the 
cliffs, thousands of anxious eyes scanned 
across the awakening deep. “ Behold ! ” 
in one breath came the cry. “Behold, a 
craft tends hither, but its sails are of white 
and on them is blazoned a cross of gold. 
Hearken ! the waves hasten to us, the sound 
of a song of triumph. O, can it be our 
maidens fair? Could the strange knight 
have slain the man-brute, as he said, and 
186 


THE MINOTAUR. 


delivered our daughters ? ” But as they 
spoke, the specter-ship came modestly into 
the shore. ‘‘ Thank God ! ” came the cry, 
first from the King and then the populace 
took up the mighty refrain. The brave 
knight stood at the bow, and as the thou- 
sands of overjoyed souls swarmed to em- 
brace the damsels, the young deliverer 
became enveloped in dazzling light, rose 
heavenward, and was seen no more. And 
now for the first time did one and all ex- 
claim in breathless awe, “ It was an angel 
who has come to our aid ! He has killed 
the minotaur by his magic sign.” For 
many days were feasts of joy held through- 
out the kingdom. 

During the telling of the above story, 
I could move neither hand nor foot, so 
wonder-struck was I. When at last, it was 
finished, I sprang to my feet but nowhere 
could I see trace of my spirit-visitor. After 
looking through the pages of many histo- 
ries of Greece, I failed to find any annals 
of a happening such as I have told you. 
But for myself, I believe what I heard on 
that memorable evening. I am really glad 
the minotaur is dead lest he escape over 
the seas and harm you, my little friends. 
But don’t forget that the spiritual minotaur 
still prowls about the world “ seeking 


THE MINOTAUR. 


whom he may devour.” And as the angel 
said to the maidens, “ Behold the cross ! In 
that sign you shall conquer,” so do I say 
to you,” In the sign of the cross you have a 
talisman at the sight of which the devils 
will recoil in dread, by it you shall conquer 
them.” 

Most of your little hands are too slender 
to wield a sword as yet, young friends, or 
do great things with it. Still, you have a 
weapon in the cross, that can hold at bay 
the dragons that would tear you to pieces. 

In tales of Arabia, we read how magi- 
cians by the wielding of a wand, did 
marvels — that made children all over the 
world open their eyes in wonder. Now, do 
you know that you hold within your sin- 
less souls and untarnished hands a sign 
that makes their exploits seem dwarfed 
indeed. Theirs was a devilish power, yours 
is born of heaven. 

I am quite sure that if you once could 
grasp the extent of the glory of the cross, 
you would feel, forsooth, a holy pride in 
living under its shadow. I wonder if your 
frivolous little minds have ever thought 
much on the cross — you see it so often. Y ou 
behold it raised aloft on the spire of your 
church to tell souls wearied with sin, where 
the “ House of Peace ” is. You see it 
188 


THE MINOTAUR. 


above the tabernacle. You have it dan- 
gling from your beads. Who has thrown 
about the cross the sanctity with which it 
is clothed now ? Ah ! it is Our Blessed 
Lord, Himself. He chose it as the instru- 
ment of our salvation. The cross was His 
pillow in the death-agony. It sipped His 
precious blood — it listened to His last sigh. 
How sweet it should be, then, to His little 
followers who love Him so. Indeed, little 
friends, the cross is so woven into the 
meshes of your young hearts, that you can- 
not very well get away from it. When 
Almighty God ushered you into the world, 
he had placed on your little brows by one 
of his shepherds, the sign of the cross. You 
were then branded as one of His tiny lambs. 
After the few sweet days of babyhood 
sped away, the cross threw about you its 
influence again in the form of Confirmation. 
You are young and mirthful now and I do 
not want to breathe of a subject that would 
make you wrinkle your little brows, but 
just let me remark that when the shadows 
of death begin to fold you into your final 
slumber, the cross will again be placed in 
your fading hands as the minister of grace 
traces this same comforting sign upon your 
brows. And then, when the angel has 
called you away, it will be in the form of a 


THE MINOTAUR. 


cross that your spiritual Mother will kiss 
you farewell. And what about your little 
grave ? Above that, too, loving hands will 
rear a cross — maybe of lasting stone, per- 
haps of fading wood. It matters not, be it 
only a cross, for it shall stand through the 
years as a faithful sentinel to watch over 
you, to throw its hallowed shadows over 
you when all else shall have fled. 

Now you see, little friends, how sweetly 
the effects of the cross pervade every fiber 
of your being. You are beginning to 
grasp now, I trust, the sanctity and power 
of the cross. Here let me whisper a ques- 
tion, “ How do you make that sign before 
and after prayers ? ” Is it the first act you 
perform in the morning as you awaken? 
Answer these little questions within your 
own little hearts, for I would not make you 
blush with a possible consciousness of 
guilt. 

You may remark here, “ How is it that 
people always speak of sorrow and trouble 
and those unwelcome things as crosses ? ” 
Well, while the cross has its glories, re- 
wards and consolations, it entails a little 
self-denial, of course. See what an amount 
of pain it brought to Your Dearest Friend. 
Yet Good Friday was soon followed by 
Easter morn. Yes, I must say, upon the 


THE MINOTAUR. 


shoulders of every Christian child there is 
tenderly laid, sooner or later, a cross. But 
will we not be true to our pledges, to be 
resigned folio werg of Our Saviour ? Yes, 
trudge after Him with your little burden, 
the journey will not be so long. The 
Master sees it all and awaits you at the 
mountain top. Arrived there. He will lift 
it from your bruised shoulders, soothe your 
brow with His caresses — then can you rest 
for evermore. 

Stand close to your cross, then. Through 
the years of life never be untrue to your 
standard. It is a glorious sight to see 
young boys playing soldiers — Their steps 
are quickened by the first impulse of that 
spirit of patriotism, yet they know it not 
under that name. The flag ! The Stars 
and Stripes ! O, that is what makes their 
pent-up feelings burst forth in rollicking 
cheers. 

You, little friends, are the best of 
patriots because you are the loyalest of 
Catholics. You have been taught to love 
the standard of your country in your class- 
room, but do not forget that there is a 
standard that floats still higher in the 
Heavens than your national one. It is that 
of your faith, the Cross of Your Saviour. 
If you grow enthused over the first, do not 


THE MINOTAUR. 


be less fervid over the latter. Love the 
flag of your country — reverence the ensign 
of your holy religion — and you will be 
children of whom your seniors will be 
proud. 


192 


XTbe ffrog an& tbe Xilg. 


DEATH. 

A FEiSKY young frog, dressed in his 
shining coat of speckled green, stood one 
morning on the edge of a jagged old stone. 
From his manner of acting, I should judge 
he was very conceited, for now and then, 
he would twist his head in a queer sort of 
a way and look down on the surface of the 
dreaming waters, as a young damsel would 
gaze into a mirror. He smiled a conscious 
smile, then lifted his head and peered across 
the fields as though he yearned for some 
playmates to come and share his joy. He 
was a sociable frog at least. But, do you 
know, being early in the morning, not even 
a bird or fish was yet astir ; so the frisky 
frog passed the moments in thinking foolish 
thoughts. 

Here I am,” he said, youthful and 
handsome. I really think, unlike other 
creatures, I shall never die.” So he laughed 
and danced in a grotesque way. He be- 
came, after a while, very quiet, and lifting 
his web foot to his ear, he murmured, 

I-? 193 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


“ Hello, I hear some one calling me ! but 
my ! how sweet and soft is the voice.” 
Again the call, “ Good-morning, Mr. Frog,” 
sailed softly over the lake. 

“Well! well! If it isn’t my delicate 
darling, Miss Water Lily, calling me !” So 
he straightway dove into the stream, and 
w’as soon by Miss Water Lily’s side. 
“Well, you little darling,” said he, “how 
fresh and fair you look this morning.” 
Miss Water Lily bowed her head modestly. 
“ Do you know, I was just thinking to my- 
self what a distasteful thought darkness 
and death is. O, I love sunlight and life ! ” 

“I, too,” gently whispered Miss Water 
Lily. 

“Ah, yes. I think you and I are too 
fair and young to die,” rejoined Mr. Frog. 

“ Perhaps we shall be exempt from that 
baneful decree,” said Miss Lily, meekly. 

“ Yes, I feel as though I could live on for- 
ever,” broke in Mr. Frog, inflating his chest 
to the utmost extent. 

“ O, see ! ” said Miss Water Lily, ruffling 
her brow. “ What is this immense white 
creature gliding towards us ? I hope it 
will not harm us.” Mr. Frog stood on his 
hind legs, then laughed at the seeming child- 
ishness of Miss Water Lily. “Why, you 
slender darling,” said he, striving to quiet 
194 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


her fears,” that is a sailboat. I can vouch 
it as harmless. See how it throws out its 
white wings as though it would gladly soar 
through the air. Hearken to the merry 
laughter of the children, as it moves over 
the waters. Lo, what fair-haired youth is 
at the helm ; see his soft locks as the breeze 
gently plays through them.” 

“They are, in truth, veering this way,” 
now gasped Mr. Frog, as fear shone from 
his filmy eyes. “ Miss Water Lily, my 
dear damsel, you will pardon me if I leave 
you abruptly,” stammered out Mr. Frog. 
“You know self-safety is a law I respect 
very much. That delicate hand you see 
outstretched and seemingly so harmless, has 
lurking within it a deadly grasp.” With 
no further adieu, Mr. Frog now dove into 
the pond and was soon lost to sight. Miss 
Water Lily grew steadily paler, but seemed 
unable to move as the white vessel like a 
specter bore down upon her. She be- 
thought herself to plunge beneath the snr- 
face too, but, “ Alas,” she sighed, “ I know 
not how to swim.” 

By this time, the slender hand had 
reached out and folding its fiexible fingers 
firmly about Miss Lily’s neck, pulled her 
forth, roots and all, and a whisper exclaimed, 
“ How fair vou are ! ” Two blue little eyes 
195 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


looked out into her languishing face, as she 
grew more faint each moment. The rays 
of the noonday sun threw their wilting 
heat upon her. 

Scarcely five minutes had passed before 
Miss Water Lily’s freshness had vanished. 
Mr. Frog by this time was perched on the 
pinnacle of a jagged stone and looked on 
from afar. He whimpered as he said : 
‘‘ Alas, how quickly the fair and young pass 
away ! ” Just then the little maiden in the 
boat sighed too. “ So fair you were, Miss 
Lily, and now you are seared and dead.” 
Mr. Prog told me many months afterward, 
as we sat on the bank chatting one day over 
bygone times, that he would never forget 
the lesson he had learned that day. Neith^er 
will I forget that lesson. 

It seems to me that ever since that fate- 
ful hour water-lilies have a sad air about 
them. They never frolic with other flowers, 
but ever keep by themselves, sad and lonely. 
I reflect now, however, there is reason for 
it. 

Without a further word to assist you, 
my little friends, you have divined my 
purpose in telling you this tearful tale. 
You have guessed rightly when you declare, 
as did Mr. Frog, that all creatures, even 
the young and fair, are doomed to blossom 
196 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


but for a fleeting hour in this world. 
Then, perhaps without warning, the mo- 
ment of their “ plucking out ” will come, and 
they will wither and die whilst they 
thought to bud and blossom. Death, then, 
children, is the fate of all creatures in this 
life. 

The little wild flower that greets you so 
sweetly by the roadside may, by the morrow, 
be seared and dead as you come again. 
The note of melody, that gladdens the air 
soon melts and passes away. Your life, too, 
little friends, is to be as these sweet creat- 
ures. You may be basking in the sunlight 
of morning with no thought of you passing, 
with the stream of innocent pleasure flow- 
ing past your feet, when the chill hand of 
death may steal upon you, perhaps even in 
a pleasant guise, lift you into the specter- 
ship and bear you away into eternity. 

Some little folks are wont to call death 
the closing scene of old age, but this is not 
so. Many have met this ghastly friend 
before their little feet had scampered long 
on the roadside of life. 

Two tots chanced one day, to stand be- 
fore a stately mansion. From the massive 
iron door, there hung gracefully a scarf of 
white crepe. “ 0, how pretty is that scarf 
of white! ’’said one. ‘‘Yes,” quoth the 
197 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


second, sniffing her nostrils, “ it smells of 
sweet perfume.” “ What a nice ornament 
it is for a mansion,” they said. 

“ Ah, it is no adornment,” said the old 
gardener, who sat thoughtfully beneath a 
tree. “ Its perfumed folds of white tell a 
doleful tale to me. Within those unyield- 
ing doors, there lies motionless a child 
whom I loved. But yesterday, she laughed 
and sang as I danced her on my knee ! 
To-day she sleeps and the thread of her 
song she will take up in Heaven.” The 
old servant was prone to continue his story 
when something must have hurt his throat, 
for he rested his hand gently upon it and 
walked away. The two little intruders 
looked wistfully after him for a few mo- 
ments, then they strolled toward the way- 
side, and one of them sighed, “Alas, I 
thought not of death before.” 

You recall, little friends, how in the early 
summer weeks, you scamper through the 
fields to watch the fireflies dart hither and 
thither through the slumbering air. As a 
little chap, I used to do the self -same thing, 
Now, as I look across the valley, I think 
to myself, how truly do these tiny beings 
tell the story of our existence. We spring 
into life, we glitter before the world for a 
few years, filled with the idea of our own 
198 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


greatness. Then the glitter, of a sudden, 
goes out. We fall from view into our 
graves. We are thought of no more. A 
few tears mark the event of our going 
away and that is all. 

Is the thought of death, then, one of it- 
self calculated to fill our little hearts with 
gloom ? No, not at all. The saints sighed 
for death. Why was the element of fear 
taken away for them ? 

Because that which makes death dreadful 
was absent in their lives; namely, mortal 
sin. Ah, little friends ! When our con- 
sciences are free from the sting of sin, we 
can face death calmly, just as the wearied 
toiler sits at his cabin door and watches the 
gleam of day fade slowly from the western 
sky, and is glad that the evening of rest 
has come. 

St. Paul the Apostle, being a holy man, 
used to sing to comfort his spirit, “ O 
Death, where is thy victory ? Death, where 
is thy sting?” and his song was beautiful. 

Your loving Mother, children, your Faith, 
gives to death a name so beautiful I cannot 
help mentioning it. When one of her little 
ones is dying, she kneels fondly by its 
side and whispers to the sorrowing friends : 

“Weep not! Your dear one is only 
going home.” Isn’t that a sweet w^ay of 


THE FROG AND THE LILY. 


telling what death is to a devout little 
Christian ? Where is the souFs home ? It 
is in Heaven, wherein there are many man- 
sions for little folks as well as for their 
elders. 

Let your lives, then, children, be always 
of such purity and goodness that when the 
time comes for the mysterious hand to 
reach forth and pluck you from amidst 
your friends and loved ones, you will go 
forth, not with tears and trembling, but 
with hope and peace in your souls. You 
can then sing : “ I am indeed going home to 
my lasting dwelling with Jesus Christ.” 

“ O, what were life, if life were all ? Thine eyes 
Are blinded by thy tears, or thou wouldst see 
Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies ’ 

And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.” 


200 


XTbc 3ButterflB anb tbe SSee. 


AIM IN LIFE. 

Mr. Bumblebee was nestled in the midst 
of a large and fragrant rose. He was busy 
at work extracting the honey, and stowing 
it away in his little cask. He had worked 
away for hours that morning, but withal 
he seemed to be really happy, for he was 
buzzing an old tune, like bees usually do. 

Miss Butterfly, dressed in her finery of 
black and gold, came fluttering over the 
fields as gaily as could be. “ Gracious me ! ” 
she exclaimed, “ how hard that little fellow 
is working. I wonder why he does not 
flutter about and fritter away the moments 
as I do. I will go and ask him.” So off 
she danced and lit gaily on the edge of the 
rose wherein Mr. Bee was busily working. 

“ Why, Mr. Bee,” she began, as per- 
suavely as she could, “ why do you not fly 
about on the fragrant breeze and sip the 
sweetness of life as I do. I have no work 
nor care to cast a cloud over my young life. 
See above you the blue sky. Hear the 
brook tempting you away as it dances over 
201 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


the pearly pebbles. Hear the birds twitter- 
ing and laughing through the boughs, and 
you are so serious. O, surely, you will 
grow old before your time.” Now, wdiat 
answer do you suppose Mr. Bee made to 
this lengthy and elegant speech ? He 
simply worked away as before, buzzing the 
same old dronthon. Miss Butterfly looked 
decidedly puzzled at her failure to make 
an impression, and was about to make an- 
other appeal when Mr. Bee looked over the 
top of the flower at her with one menacing 
eye and said : 

‘‘ See here, Miss Butterfly, you may feel 
very content to be wafted around on sweet 
breezes, wear graceful gowns and all that, 
but no such life for me. I consider you a 
little fool,” and he lifted his little head to 
its full height. “ I am living with a purpose 
in life. I have some good to do those about 
me, and I am doing it. You, like many 
others of your kind, live only to waltz about 
and look gay. You may pride yourself on 
being very sensible, but I consider you far 
from it.” What a stern little bee this was ! 

‘‘ What do you mean, Mr. Bee, addressing 
me in those sharp words,” retorted Miss 
Butterfly. “You may work on, making a 
slave of yourself if you choose, and die, 
as you live, working, but the world considers 
^0^ 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


me possessed of far more sense and prudence 
than you ever dreamed of.” “ Is that so ? ” 
said Mr. Bee, “ we shall see ! ” So he hew up 
into the air and scanned the horizon for an 
instant, then called out with his wheezy 
voice, “ Come here. Miss Humming-bird, I 
want to speak to you.” 

Miss Humming-bird, who all the while 
had been perched on a tiny twig behind 
a large maple leaf, promptly obeyed the 
summons and darted over to the place of 
dispute, “^^ow, little friends,” she said 
gently, “ keep your peace. I heard it all.” 
‘‘ Miss Butterfly,” she said, turning with 
courtesy to the dainty creature, “ let me tell 
you that you are wrong, very wrong, to 
speak as you do. You by no means are as 
sensible as Mr. Bumblebee. 

“You sail about, without thought of any 
kind in your shallow brain, and if I now 
w^ere to ask you what purpose you have in 
life, what aim, you, I am sure, could not 
answer me. 

“ Whereas, on the other hand, your friend, 
Mr. Bumblel3ee, is known throughout the 
world for his thrift and industry, and many 
are the lips he sweetens by his honey. 

“ When Winter sends his icy blasts across 
the plains, Mr. Bumblebee has in read- 
iness a cozy shelter, whereas you perish for 
203 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


your lack of providence.” But, now, Miss 
Humming-bird could see that no further 
arguing was necessary, for Miss Butterfly 
was hanging her head for shame. At last 
she said coyly, ‘‘ Dear Miss Humming-bird, 
I cannot gainsay your wise words. My 
powers of expression are verily inadequate 
to tell my poignant regret at what I have 
said.” Phew ! ” said both her listeners, 
“ What smart language.” 

They all now joined hands and flew over 
to Miss Butterfly’s dainty little den, where, 
it is said, they partook of a splendid feast 
of clover-tops and honey. 

I never dreamed, that the tiny head of a 
bumblebee contained so much wisdom, 
until I chanced to overhear the foregoing 
conversation. I am rather pleased to know, 
that what promised to be so bitter a quarrel 
was settled so peaceably, for I should rather 
dislike to see any disruption take place 
between the bees and the butterflies, they 
have been loving comrades for many years. 

After all, his royal Beeship, is the phi- 
losopher of his little world. How grateful 
Miss Butterfly should have been to have 
received so valuable an instruction. But 
it seems to me that she and her kind have 
profited little by Miss Humming-bird’s 
words. For, I am told, they still flutter 
204 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


about without any purpose in life. Yes, 
I must say, that I am proud of my young 
acquaintance, Mr. Bee. He is not only 
a source of good example to his young 
brethren in the insect world, but he preaches 
from his flimsy pulpit wise sermons to little 
folks as well, for his life is ever influenced 
by an aim, a purpose. If you were to hail 
him some morning as he darts through the 
air and ask him why he flies hither or 
thither, he would soon tell you it is because 
“ I am aiming at the fulfilment of some 
little task. I have an end in view and every 
time I buzz my wings I move to the accom- 
plishment of that end.” 

Now 1 gladly would desist from what 
I am going to say, little friends, but it must 
be said, even though the world should stop 
revolving. How sensible bumblebees are 
and how giddy many, many little folks are. 
This assertion may arouse the fire of your 
indignation against me, but the truth re- 
mains. When 1 come to reflect, it appeals to 
me that there are two classes amongst all 
children. There are bumblebees, and then 
we know there are butterflies. 

AVho are the bumblebees ? They are 
those children who live with a view to ac- 
complish something in life, to “ make their 
mark ” in the world, as business men say. 

205 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


They are those who even now in their 
childhood days have clinched in their little 
noddles, a definite idea of what their future 
years shall be, and this idea now colors and 
modifies everything they do. They say to 
themselves as they work away at school, 
I am not going to grow up and lead a 
mere vague existence. The world is before 
me and I intend to be a hero in the strife. 
I am going to pick out such or such a pro- 
fession or trade, and now as my mind is 
yielding and plastic, I will mold it into 
that form which will facilitate my reaching 
the goal of my desire.” So speaketh the 
wise child. He says, “ I see about me in 
the world men, and boys too, who are 
tossed about as so man}^ ships on the water, 
and whose short-lived ambitions lay strewn 
along the shore of time, like pieces of 
wreckage. They are ever in a state of 
turmoil and when their lives come to a 
close, they are constrained to confess that 
they had done nothing of note for God, 
themselves or their country. Why does all 
this happen ? Because their lives were not 
ordered by an aim or purpose. 

One day, a little fellow whom I blush to 
own as a friend, went out into the wood- 
land to hunt. His father had given him a 
rifle just suited for a boy. After scram- 
206 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


bling through the tanglewood for a time, he 
lifted his rifle, sighted it apparently at 
something, and began firing away. The 
minutes sped on, so did the shot, and yet 
he kept on firing like a young soldier. I 
happened by just then. 

Said I to him, “ Little friend, you must 
be laying low every beast in this lonely 
fen.” “ No ! ” he answered with a silly 
smile, “I have killed no game as yet.” 
“ Why ? ” I queried in surprise. “ O,” he 
rejoined, laying his gun against a tree, “ I 
took no aim. I just fired away for fun.” 
Such an answer angered me, so I left him. 

You smile in pity, young friends, I know, 
at such a want of intelligence, but be not 
quick to judge. He was not the only 
foolish boy in the world. What can be 
said of the youngster, who fires away the 
precious moments of his school days 
just for fun,” aiming all the while at abso- 
lutely nothing. What can be said of the 
child who rambles to school, day in and 
day out, who works fairly well if you please, 
who drifts along through the years of study 
with the class, like ships that drift out to 
sea, but who, when asked, “ for what station 
in life are you preparing yourself ? ” replies 
stolidly, “ Really, I cannot say. I have 
none.” Is not such a boy just as senseless 
207 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


as he who used his gun to no avail ? I cer- 
tainly think so. 

O, little friends, such a condition of mind 
is deplorable. Do your cheeks burn with 
the consciousness of fault when you read 
these lines? If so, decide this very day 
upon what purpose the energies of your life 
henceforth will be focused. Pray for light. 
Examine and see what your mental qualities 
may be and then make a resolution that 
will be as firm as adamant. 

You read now and then in your histories, 
the accounts of the lives of great men, 
whose names the world has immortalized. 
You see statues reared to their memories. 
Then it begins to dawn upon you : This 
noble countenance was but a few years ago, 
cast in the milder lines of youth. From 
those lips that have startled the world with 
their eloquence, there once rippled the 
liquid laughter of boyhood, and in those 
eyes which are now an inspiration to others, 
the twinkle of childhood pranks sparkled. 

What secret power was it, then, that 
molded the soft boy into the hardy hero ? 
The answer is easy. In days of youth, the 
resolution to “ he something ” was made, 
the aim, the purpose was formed and set. 
Do not blame me, little friends, for talking 
so sternly to you in this chapter, for it is a 
208 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


serious subject. Some day, when you have 
grown up, you will visit that part of your 
country where the gold-fields are. There, 
perhaps, you will observe a man advanced 
in years, working away, swinging his pick 
with as much vigor as he did many years 
ago. 

Ask that sturdy old warrior why he has 
weathered so many winters on that lonely 
mountain-side. He will reply, “ I am 
firmly convinced that beneath these stub- 
born stones, grains of gold are lurking, and 
though it may take years for me to unearth 
that treasure, nothing will shake me from 
my purpose.” And so through, sunshine 
and storm he toils away, until at last, his 
eager eyes fall upon those precious grains. 

The future that is veiled to you now, 
little friends, holds what is more precious 
to you than gold ; namely, success, spirit- 
ual and temporal. Be intent on acquiring 
it. Direct your efforts thither day by day. 
O, is it not a sad picture to behold so 
many men in the world to-day who are 
tossed through life by the cruel wind of 
misfortune ? If their days of youth were 
spread before them again, how differently 
they would use them ! How they would 
live with an aim, a purpose ! 

Now, I am going to close this little talk 


THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE. 


with you by making a request. Ask your- 
selves this very minute : “ What is my 
aim in life ? I am not going to be like the 
boy who shot without aim. Neither will 
I resemble the butterfly whom the hum- 
ming-bird so fitly humiliated, but rather I 
will be like the busy bee, that precious 
little being who claims respect the world 
over. 


210 


Ube 3fall of tbe fibice’s Castle, 


VENIAL SIN. 

I HAVE long been aware, young friends, 
that almost the entire world holds a feel- 
ing of enmity toward little mice. When I 
say almost the entire world, I refer prin- 
cipally to grown people. Why this is so, 
I cannot explain. I am sure, though, that 
you and I, are rather friendly disposed to 
the little fellows ; for, after all, there is no 
malice in their tiny hearts. They love a 
frolic just as we do, and that is all. Then, 
too, they have so many qualities in com- 
mon with little folks that I am sure we 
can easily condone their shortcomings. 

Well, I am going to tell you of a pain- 
ful happening that befell a merry little 
company of mice not long ago, but I trust 
that you will not feel too downcast over it. 
It seems that they lived a merry life for 
the longest time in the vault of an ancient 
castle, that was ruled by a kind young 
prince. This prince, as most of them do, 
dined sumptuously every day. 

After the banquet had been finished, the 
211 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


old butler would gather upon a silver 
platter the crumbs that were scattered 
about, and throw them into the vault. 
Then the feast of the mice would begin. 
I am told, they had their music and danc- 
ing, too. How wonderful ! Of this, how- 
ever, I am not sure. At any rate, like 
many folks of better intelligence, they 
were wont to carry their mirth and feast- 
ing far into the night. This, ’tis true, was 
not very commendable, nor was it prudent, 
for the stealthy Maltese cat of the prince, 
ever on the alert to suppress any mis- 
conduct that might appear, particularly 
amongst the mice, hearing the tittering and 
music, one night drove the poor young cul- 
prits from the castle walls. So that ever 
afterwards they were doomed to live in 
the fields close by. 

Now you will admire them when I tell 
you how stoically they took their banish- 
ment. They put their cunning heads to- 
gether and decided to build a castle for 
themselves and be free from the tyranny 
of Miss Pussy Cat. Good for them ! Like 
young beavers did they set to work, and 
soon the prettiest little home that ever a 
mouse stepped into, sprang into existence. 

To be sure, the feastings of by-gone 
times were no longer had. They ate of 
212 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


those things only that are proper food for 
mice. They became, I have heard, model 
mice in every respect. Never after, was 
so much as one theft of cheese imputed to 
them. This is why I feel some sense of 
pity when I think of the calamity that be- 
fell them. 

I would never believe it, did not the 
prince tell me, that mice are wont to hold 
birthday parties after the fashion of some 
of my little friends. Well, on an occasion 
of this character, there were assembled, I 
learn, hundreds of little merry-makers. 
There were mice with gray coats and black, 
and even other some wore robes of purest 
white. 

They were seated about the rim of a 
huge platter nibbling away at a piece of 
cheese, that had found its way, possibly 
through the lack of the butler’s vigilance, 
into the home of the mice. Melody and 
merriment filled every hold and corner of 
the tiny house. 

The visiting mouse in the white coat had 
arisen and was now growing fervid in a 
speech, the like of which had never before 
been equaled in mousedom, when, without 
warning, a crackling sound startled all the 
diners, and before the spry young creatures 
could leap aside, the roof came tumbling 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


down. All was noise and shrieks for a 
time, as occurs at great calamities. A 
sadder spectacle, I know, has seldom been 
witnessed. After a calm had come over 
the scene, however, it was found that only 
one precious little life had been snutfed 
out. It was that of the visiting white 
mouse. 

Tiny tears now stood in the eyes of each 
young mourner, just as you might suppose. 
The delicate young form was lifted upon a 
knoll of moss by willing little hands. 
There it lay in state, until all the mice of 
station high and low of the surrounding 
country, came to pay the last respects. 
The hour of the funeral at last came. A 
large brown mouse with unusually ill-propor- 
tioned ears, (not meaning to throw ridicule 
about him,) ascended the pulpit and began 
to wade through a sorrowful panegyric. 
His speech was very long and not much to 
the point, as unfortunately is the case be- 
times, with sermons of the kind. He was 
there to exploit his own ability and that, 
as you know, was bad taste. 

However, his closing phrases were so 
good I thought it well to tell them to you : 

“ The cause of this disaster, good 
brothers,” said he, “ may be laid to one 
thing : the twig holding the roof in place, I 
214 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


have noticed for some time, has been affect- 
ed by what we men of science call “ Culpa 
Mordens.” It means just this: — A little 
white speck of decay began in the heart of 
the twig. We did nothing to eradicate 
it. It gradually ate the inner strength 
away, while it left the surface fair as ever. 
Hence the ruin of our house when we 
thought to live in it through many months 
to come.” 

Just then a rabbit, attracted thither by 
the eloquent voice, startled the sad listeners 
so that they ran frightened in all directions, 
leaving the still form of the deceased white 
mouse resting on the knoll of green. Nor 
did they return. I heard that the good 
natured rabbit buried the poor mouse him- 
self, but I cannot be sure that this is quite 
true. 

I dislike very much to borrow any ideas 
from any mouse, however learned he may 
be. I cannot withhold my admiration, 
however, of the scientific way in which the 
noted mouse-orator explained the cause of 
the calamity. I must say that I can tell 
of the downfall of many a little spiritual 
structure in precisely the same way. 

In learned scrolls, I find that Culpa 
Mordens” is a disease, common alike to 
trees and children. The mouse did well in 
21o 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


explaining it of trees. Let me do the same 
for my little friends. 

The spiritual life in each of your pre- 
cious souls is what I fain would call a 
fragrant little plant. The dew of God’s 
grace and the sunlight of fervor, keep it 
ever sweet. But just as happens with 
flowers and plants, the white speck of 
imperfection may settle on its delicate fab- 
ric. Now I know this is rather smart talk, 
but I will explain. Let us suppose — you 
fall into venial sin, you persevere in that 
condition of soul for a very long time. 
This is the “ Culpa Mordens.” You feel no 
contrition for it, you allow it to remain 
imbedded in your soul. Soon venial sins, 
without any twitch of conscience, are com- 
mitted. The entire support of your souls 
is now being eaten away. The day of 
sorrow at length comes for you, as it did 
for the mice. The edifice collapses, when 
you thought to be the merriest. That is 
your fall into mortal sin. 

The sighs and tears now steal from your 
little hearts to which before they were 
entire strangers. Venial sin, my little 
friends, should not be underrated. It of- 
fends God, it decreases the flow of grace 
into your soul. It makes you sad. These 
are reasons, therefore, why you should 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


never consent to commit it. Listen to 
this : 

One morning the sun shone with un- 
wonted splendor. For days it had been 
imprisoned behind the leaden clouds. It 
threw its warmth upon the face of a poor 
sick child who sat by the window looking 
dreamily into the distance. It seemed glad 
to be free again. Instantly a smile was 
awakened on those languid features. That 
strange sort of sigh, that tells of the pass- 
ing of sorrow, heaved from her little heart, 
and she began to hum an old tune. The 
flowers which her young companions had 
brought her, heretofore nodding their sleepy 
heads, woke now from their dulness and 
greeted the golden light. 

Soon, alas, I grieve to say, some heavy 
clouds overtook the sun and forced it again 
into its gloomy prison. The flowers pouted 
and dropped their heads, and so did the 
girl. The mournful look stole back again 
into the languid eyes. I felt sorry for the 
little one, but, do you know, I could not 
help remarking what a type this occurrence 
was, of a child who falls into venial sin. It 
does not shut off entirely the light of God’s 
friendship and grace, to be sure ; but, oh ! 
see into what a sad contrast it throws the 
soul. Now I know why I hear, so often, 
217 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


gentle sighs coming from little souls. Ve- 
nial sin is there ! 

You know, little friends, I am sure, how 
tenderly your good Lord loves you, and how 
fondly He would fold you in His arms if 
He were on earth again. Very well. Even 
though the cruelty of men keep Him from 
being the Good Shepherd to you as He was 
to little folks of yore, nevertheless He is 
near you ever in the sacrament of His love. 
Not a day goes by that He does not call to 
you sweetly to go to Him. 

“ Come to Me, children,” He says. “ Bring 
your tiny vessels to Me, so that I may fill 
them with the fragrance of grace .” These 
vessels, you know, are your souls. Now 
isn’t it a pity that your Lord is forced to 
sigh as He peeks into some of these little 
vessels ? “ Ah ! ” I can hear Him say, now 
and then, “here is a young heart that I 
would love to fill with my fragrance, but 
alas ! I cannot, since it is already full of un- 
clean water. What is this unclean water ? 
You know. It is venial sin. Now when 
this happens, I pity our good Lord and 
feel sorry for that foolish heart. 

Here I am going to close my talk on this 
subject, my little friends, for I do not like 
long chats. I presume you are the same. 

Try to shun venial sin solely because it 
218 


THE FALL OF THE MICE’S CASTLE. 


is displeasing to your best Friend, Who 
loves you I know, more tenderly than your 
mothers do. How unwilling you would be 
to allow a spark to remain on your dress. 
It would soon spring into flame and your 
whole dress be ruined. The burden of 
venial sin on your conscience, should cause 
you as much uneasiness as the spark on 
your dress. Well, now, what are you going 
to say after pondering these few thoughts ? 
I guess I know. “ Good-by, venial sin ! I 
do not want you as a companion any more.” 


219 


Ipaptnta, tbe IFnbtan ©iri. 


VOICE OF CONSCIENCE. 

Papestta is the name of a pretty little 
Indian maiden, who is going to be the pith 
of my story. You have often seen a fair 
little lily, blooming ofttimes in a barren 
place, with the ugliest sort of weeds clus- 
tered about it for companions. And you 
wondered as you beheld the timid nomad, 
how such a lovely creature came to unfold 
in the midst of such sad surroundings. So 
you will marvel when you hear, that amongst 
the Indian warriors a child so amiable as 
Papinta could thrive and be happy. 

Not many people, even great historians, 
know the story of my little papoose, so I 
will give it to you with all its freshness. 
The pretty pet dwelt with her tribe while 
summer lingered. But now the chilly winds 
of Fall were beginning to blow and strip 
the trees. So the chiefs packed up their 
tents and led the trail away to a milder 
climate. Over plains and along rushing 
streams did they ramble and when night 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


threw her stillness over them, they would 
huddle together near the camp-fires in their 
blankets, and slumber and dream. 

The old squaws and braves lolled about 
the crackling embers one night smoking 
their calumets and singing war songs. 
They were indeed in a merry mood. 
“ Come, let us have a song from our little 
Papinta,” cried the old chief. “ Where is 
the young cherub. Do you know, I have 
not heard her sing to-day.” 

“ Papinta ! Papinta ! ” was now the bur- 
den of a thousand cries. A deathlike 
stillness came upon these shouts. Every 
face grew rigid in fearful thought. And 
the light of the smoldering embers threw 
a ghastly color on the scene. “ O, can she 
be lost ? ” stole the quivering cry from the 
mother. And in mournful answer, as a 
solemn amen, came the half smothered moan 
from all, “ She is lost ! Papinta is lost ! ” 

“ Come, let us be off and search the glens 
and thickets,” called the chief. In a 
twinkling the braves were darting through 
the tangle-woodland, followed by barking 
hounds. More faintly each moment could 
be heard the cry : “ Papinta, Papinta,” but 
the mournful echo answered, and that was 
all. With the dawn the braves returned. 
Papinta was not with them, nor had any 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


footprints revealed her whereabouts. With 
heavy hearts did one and all sit about the 
fire for the morning meal. “ I am afraid 
we will never hear our little song-bird 
again,” sighed the old chief, looking afar 
off and choking back his tears. 

“ Hark,” cried the mother of the child, 
becoming rigid and staring into space, 
“ who is singing ? How like Papinta it 
sounds ! ” All about now moved their 
heads with a knowing nod. “ Alas ! ” 
groaned the chief, in scarcely an audible 
whisper, “ it is the voice of her spirit 
coming to console us.” “ No, no 1 it can- 
not be,” said the distracted mother, jumping 
to her feet like a startled tigress, “ it grows 
stronger and sweeter.” 

“ It does, indeed,” answered the old 
chief, twinkling his eyes in awakening 
hope. Now the rustle of little feet through 
the leaves was heard, again another moment, 
and the bright eyes of Papinta peered 
through the thicket into those of her 
gladdened mother. “ O, you little run- 
away ! ” cried the chief in a maddened love 
and tossing her into his arms. “ Papinta is 
found ! ” now rang through the valleys. 
She was now well-nigh smothered with 
kisses and caresses. “ O, let me tell you 
of the great spirit I have seen ! ” cried the 
222 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


child, gently pushing back her many lovers. 
“ Yes, do ! We will listen,” cried they all. 

“ Yesterday, as we trudged along the 
road,” said Papinta, “I stopped to pluck 
some tulips that nodded to me as though 
they would speak, as so many little temp- 
ters. One blossom after another enticed 
me farther and farther into the dense 
woods. My stray seemed but a moment, 
so pleasant it was, but hours must have 
stolen away. When I stepped out on the 
roadside, I looked up and down, but no 
one could I see. Then I sat down ’neath 
a willow and wept. Soon sleep came to 
me. ‘ Don’t cry, little one,’ whispered a 
voice, ‘ come with me.’ I rubbed my eyes 
to see if I were dreaming, but no ! I 
followed as it led me, but never could I 
see any one. Now and then, I would turn 
into a path that I thought would bring me 
to you, but the voice would call, ‘ No, no ! 
Not that way ! ’ Soon we came to an old 
rustic bridge beneath which the waters 
foamed and rushed angrily. To look at 
them I paused, they so enchanted me. But 
once more did the voice bid me not tarry 
saying, ‘There is danger here.’ So, like 
a good little girl, I tripped along. 

“ I stopped after a time to sip of a sweet 
brook that smiled at me. But again did I 
223 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


hear the warning, ‘ Stay not here to drink. 
Farther on you will be refreshed.’ Then 
as morning began to gladden the heavens, 
I heard the muffled roar of some strange 
beasts. I was about to skip away to see 
what manner of beings they were, when 
some strong arm encircled my waist so I 
could not move. 

“ The full light of day had come now, and 
I saw in the valley below me the white 
points of your tents and the smoke curling 
lazily through the trees. I said to the 
strange spirit, ‘ Can these be the dwellings 
of my loved ones ? ’ And it answered, ‘ Yes. 
Now your wanderings are over. You have 
heeded my voice, and now you are again 
with your mother.’ The good spirit 
vanished just then. I felt so happy I began 
to sing. Now here I am, and glad am I 
that I followed the promptings of the spirit 
voice.” 

Now, had little Papinta never been 
found, you don’t know how I would have 
pined and worried ; for I will tell you in 
confidence, I knew her and loved her well. 
But she is not the only child I love. You, 
little friends, are just as dear to me, though 
perhaps I will never see you. You are 
young followers of the Master and how 
could I be else than fond of you ? And 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


I would grieve if one of you snould wander 
away from the path of holiness. 

But I am sensible enough to know that, 
as you go skipping along life’s highway, you 
may be whispered aside by some false 
pleasure, some deceitful blossom that may 
wink at you. To be plain, you may be 
perplexed at times, as to whether you may 
enjoy such and such a pleasure, or plan a 
certain act. 

Well, you have a guide to direct you 
just as true as the one who took Papin ta 
by the hand in her loneliness. That guide 
is your conscience. You heard its voice 
for the first time, a few years ago. You 
recall the day well when you committed 
'some little misdeed. When no human eye 
witnessed what you did, you thought you 
were free and no one would scold you. 
But it was not so. The blush of confusion 
burned on your cheeks, something tugged 
at your heart, and a voice that you could 
not quiet, gave you the sharpest little 
lecture you ever had. That was the voice 
of conscience. 

It has many times spoken to you since. 
And it will not cease to be your counselor 
until your little eyes have closed in their 
last slumber. Why? Because your Creator 
loves you, wishes you to come to Him in 
15 225 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


lieaven. And in your journey thither, you 
are apt to act as Papinta did, to run after 
short-lived or sinful things. This voice of 
conscience will warn you ever. Be prompt, 
then, in your response to its bidding at all 
times, and you will be happy always. 

In a castle far away, there hangs a costly 
painting. It shows a “ Little Cupid ” whis- 
pering some secret into the ear of a lady, 
who all the while smiles pleasantly at what 
is being revealed to her. Now it seems to 
me that this is a very true figure of the 
voice of conscience. . How sweetly it speaks 
to the little heart, who stands wavering on 
the borders of sin-land. “ Do not go, little 
one,” it pleads so gently, “ the fruit and 
fiowers of that land hav^e a sweetness of 
poison, and many tears will mark your 
tramp back again to the home you so 
foolishly left.” Yes, little friends, your 
conscience is the voice of your Father in 
Heaven whispering to you His will. How 
great a sin it is then for a child to pay no 
heed to its direction, or to try in any way 
to smother its sacred whisperings. And 
yet, I dread to say it, this sacred voice can 
be quieted or made dumb if the wilful 
sinner so chooses. You know what mor- 
phine is, I am sure. You are aware also 
how small a grain will render one senseless 
226 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


in a short time. Sin, oft repeated, little 
friends, and constant shutting of your ears 
to the call of grace, are to the soul as so 
many doses of spiritual morphine. It will 
grow by the hour more callous and insensi- 
ble to the gentle chidings of Jesus. 

“ But, mercy ! ” I can hear you say, 
“Father dear, little followers of Jesus as 
we are never intend to close our hearts to 
his grace or scamper away beyond the 
sound of His sweet voice. Why, then, all 
this mysterious talk about final hardness of 
heart ? ’’ 

Well, what you say, little friends, is true. 
It is my turn to take a little reproach from 
you. Now, in closing this chapter, I feel 
that you will allow me to say a parting 
word of advice to make sure that I haven’t 
hurt your little feelings. It is this : Strive 
always to keep your conscience sensitive to 
the voice of grace, just as I know you will 
try to keep your guileless souls free from 
the darkness of sin. If you take a mirror 
into your hands, and breathe on it ever so 
lightly, that mirror will instantly grow 
murky and show that its serenity has been 
disturbed. So let your consciences be, dear 
little friends. Just as soon as sin, be it 
ever so slight, throws its gloom over the 
luster of your souls, take the mystic cloth 
227 


PAPINTA, THE INDIAN GIRL. 


of Contrition and burnish them again until 
they are without stain or spot. 

I was going to say a few words about 
remorse, that agonizing condition of con- 
science that drags so many to untimely ruin. 
But I promised to say no more morbid 
things to you, and I will be true to my 
word. As the voice of conscience is to be 
your boon companion for life, to whisper 
to you sweet things in gloomy hours, and 
to warn you of dangers, be ever docile and 
yielding when it speaks. At night, when 
you lie in your little cots just after the 
light has gone away, speak then in sweet 
answer to this voice. It will give you at 
times a little upbraiding, you must expect 
that, but take it in a good spirit. It will 
be for your good. Then, as it leads you to 
the feet of your Saviour in penitence, say : 

“ Lord, it is late, I know, 

Yet, I have come oppressed ; 

Led to Thy feet by a voice of care, 

ITl weep o’er my folly, but not despair. 

I’ve come, O Lord, for rest. 


228 


Htalanta^s Manb* 


CONFESSION. 

I MUST confess to you, before I tell you 
this story, little friends, that I myself do 
not credit many of the things related in it, 
but, as most people never call them in 
question, you may as well believe them. 

Ever so many years ago, when men were 
twice their present height and dragons 
crawled the earth, there was hid in a far- 
olf corner of the world by a king named 
Aetus, a golden fleece. It differed from 
any other known before or since. This 
one had the property of curing all sorts of 
ills and of infusing lasting joy into the 
soul of him who should behold its blind- 
ing brightness, were it for a moment. 

Now, just as you may well suppose, 
thousands of people of all conditions of 
life, spent most of their time in traveling 
hither and thither in a faint hope of some 
day coming across the golden fleece. Some 
hurried toward the East for years and 
years, till finally they would bob up again 
in the very place whence they had set out. 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


yet it seemed not to dawn upon their con- 
fused minds, that the earth was round. 
The face of the globe, I fancy, appeared to 
the sun as though it were infested with an 
army of ants crawling over one another in 
a disorderly way. 

Well, at last, a lad, Jason by name, of 
noble birth, donned his mantle and girded 
on his sword, and vowed that he would 
find the Golden Fleece or die in the at- 
tempt. You can see, therefore, how brave 
he was. So olf to his vessel, that was 
moored near by, did he stride, looking stern 
as a tin soldier. He found the oars manned 
by slaves, hardy and strong of limb. 

On the prow of the vessel sat Orpheus, 
the fair songster, twanging his harp and 
singing sweetly as only he could do. Jason, 
yet only a lad, stood on the shore and said 
in ringing tones: “My warriors brave,” 
quoth he, “ we go in quest of the Golden 
Fleece, nor will we cease our toil or travel 
till we shall find it, be the hardships what 
they may.” “ We will go with you,” echoed 
back the chorus from the strong-lunged 
galley-men. 

Jason leaped aboard with agile step and, 
taking command, said to Xyphus, the helms- 
man, who, being a star-gazer, knew the 
points of the compass, “Set your course 
230 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


for the Groves of Daphny, for but yester- 
day did I learn from a wizard hag, that the 
coveted treasure hangs within that grove 
suspended from a tree ! ” Xyphus did as 
he was bidden, so the galley began to 
bound and leap over the waves just as a 
blooded steed would do. 

Orpheus now took up the thread of his 
song where Jason had broken in with his 
address. Now, I have never believed here- 
tofore that strains of music could be heard 
beneath the waters, but in this instance 
they were, for fishes of every type, poked 
their heads out of the foaming sea and ran 
along after the speeding craft, just as little 
folks do after the showunan. After many 
hours of singing, the voice of Orpheus died 
away. The fishes then ceased following 
the vessel and all slumbered and slept save 
Jason, whose heart was full of desire. 
The sea rocked the vessel gently to and fro 
as a mother would her babe. 

All the while, at the prow stood Jason, 
nor ever moved his eyes from a steady gaze 
ahead. The little, white-topped waves be- 
gan to tumble and toss themselves about 
and whisper to one another something that 
the young commander could not quite catch. 
I suppose he thought, as some great ones 
do, that every one must be talking of him. 

231 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


The truth, however, is, they were taking no 
notice of him. Kather were they tumbling 
with glee on beholding Atalanta, the goddess 
of the sea, coming in her flimsy tresses to- 
ward them. So light of foot was this fair 
damsel that she stepped from one foamy 
crest to another without wetting more than 
the sole of her sandal. 

Straightway to the bow of the rocking 
vessel did she glide. It was only now that 
Jason beheld her. Falling on one knee and 
raising his helmet, he sang this welcome to 
her : ‘‘ Come, fair daughter of the sea, and 

be our guide to the Groves of Daphny, for 
we poor mortals are in search of the Golden 
Fleece, whose magic power will make us 
ever happy.” 

Atalanta, not deigning to board the ves- 
sel, but gliding over the foamy crests, said : 
‘‘ Good J ason, in my stay amongst these 
billows, full many a score of adventurers, 
young and robust as you, have I seen sail- 
ing thither to the grove wherein the Golden 
Fleece is held, but many have been dashed 
to atoms by sudden storms and whirlwinds. 
You sail with dangers lurking ever at your 
side, for in yonder cave does Aeolus hold 
the reins of the tempests. At what mo- 
ment you think not, he may unshackle 
them, and like so many growling lions. 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


they would roar over the waves and lash 
them into fury, and few, indeed, would sur- 
vive that fury, I assure you. To guide you 
to Daphny, I am not permitted, lest the 
anger of Aeolus fall on me. But here I 
proffer you a wand. Should a sudden 
tempest come and wreck you, the wand 
will keep you and your valiant men afloat. 
Then would I lead you to your homes.” 

Scarcely had gentle Atalanta finished 
these words, when King Aeolus, being out 
of sorts just then, unfettered his fiercest 
whirlwinds. They howled and shrieked 
through the masts like hungry wolves 
about their prey. In a few seconds, the 
noble ship was a sorry piece of wreckage. 
Jason and his men were tossed into the 
torrents, but try as they would, the howling 
winds could not harm them more. Seeing 
this, they skulked back into their caves. 

A calm now came from the train of 
Atalanta, and with the swiftness almost of 
light, she carried the hapless crew to their 
native shore, they clinging the while to the 
golden wand. When at last, a huge white 
crest dropped them gently upon the sandy 
beach, they wept for joy and gratitude to 
Atalanta, and to this day, her name is held 
in benediction, so I am told. 

Little friends, I do not know whether I 
233 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


feel sorry or glad when I read this story. 
Sure, I feel sorry at the failure of Jason to 
get the (xolden Fleece, then again, I feel so 
glad when I hear of his rescue from the 
storm’s fury. To be wrecked is indeed a 
sad fate, so is it a fate none the less pitiable 
for a young soul to be wrecked by the 
gales of mortal sin. 

You, little folks, are now sailing over 
the sea of life in search of a golden fleece 
also ; that is. Heaven. Now and then, 
however, storms that steal out of the caves 
of Satan may overtake you. But, just like 
gentle Atalanta, your holy Faith holds out 
to you a wand of rescue. What is that 
wand ? It is holy confession. The more I 
think of this tender mercy to souls, the more 
I am drawn sweetly to love Our Saviour 
who instituted it. 

He knew that His little followers now 
and then would grow forgetful and drift 
away from Him into Satan’s hurricanes. 
All the while, he has provided for this sad 
emergency. He has instructed your Spir- 
itual Atalanta, Holy Mother Church, to 
lead you back to the shore whence you 
strayed away. Then, further up in the 
cool glen, he has fashioned a bower of 
reconciliation, whither little hearts could 
come and receive the kiss of pardon. 

234 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


I feel, children, that you know all that 
the catechism teaches about holy confession. 
In this little talk, I am centering my efforts 
on encouraging you to run eagerly to this 
sweet sacrament whenever your little souls 
grow remorseful, or your eyes feel inclined 
to tears of regret. 

There is no real misfortune in this world, 
remember, save that which mortal sin 
brings, and there is no sadness like that 
which follows in its wake. So there is no 
joy sweeter to the soul than the one she 
drinks in while kneeling in humble sorrow 
at the feet of the Master. 

One day, as I strolled through the wood- 
land, I heard a voice crying. As I turned, 
I beheld a little girl hurrying toward me 
through the tangled brambles. She pressed 
one of her tiny hands to her heart with the 
other. When she came up to me modestly 
at last, her tears broke all bounds and 
sobbing aloud, she said : 

“O, good sir, see my poor finger. A 
black thorn has pierced it through, and 
oh ! how it pains me ! ” I took the little in- 
jured member, and as softly as I could, I 
drew out the burning little thorn. Then, 
just as her mother would have done, I 
pressed the wounded finger to my lips and 
I was pleased to see the innocent face beam- 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


ing in smiles again. As the little one 
skipped away relieved of pain, I thought 
to myself : “ O, would that the consciences 
of all young children would be pained by 
the sting of sin as this one’s finger was by 
the piercing of the thorn ! And would that 
their little feet would run to their confessor 
with as much longing as she ran to me.” 

Yet I hear there are some boys and girls 
who, through having the thorns of sin in 
their souls, fear to go to their spiritual father 
to have them drawn out. Ah ! this should 
not be so ; for, after your mother, your 
dearest confidant should be your confessor. 
Make him the sharer of your sorrows and 
the partaker of your joys, the keeper of 
your little secrets. There should be no 
place whither you fain would run with 
greater eagerness than to the holy con- 
fessional, for it is herein that you are to 
draw near to your loving Master, whom 
you may have wounded by grievous sin. 
He will fold you in His loving embrace as 
He did of yore the children whom sin had 
made despair, and with the music of the 
words “ Go in peace” ringing in your ears, 
you will skip out into the world again, with 
a secret joy in your hearts, and a merrier 
ring to your laughter. 

Read the life of your Lord, little friends, 
23G 


ATALANTA’S WAND. 


from beginning to end, and in those blessed 
pages you will not find narrated one single 
harsh word addressed to a sinner who came 
sorrowing at His feet. So when you are 
left alone with Him in the confessional, 
you need have no doubt that He will speak 
to and with mercy. 



come when you shall have 


reached the age that borders on the grave, 
when with tottering step you shall trudge 
slowly into the confessional, you will realize 
then even better than now, that when all 
those pleasures of a vain world have failed 
to give joy to your heart, you will cling to 
the confessional as the true comforter in 
your loneliness. 


237 


■JTa&’a Urip to flDars. 


CHARACTER IN THE FACE. 

I ONCE knew a little lad very intimately, 
but he is dead now, upon whom his play- 
mates fastened the euphonic name of Tad. 
Tad differed from every other boy I have 
ever known in this particular, that he dozed 
much during the day, and would lay awake 
for hours through the night gazing at the 
good old planet. Mars. It puzzled his 
closest chums to know that it held so 
strange a fascination for him ; but the same 
wonderment was not stirred within me, for 
I knew that this remarkable lad was gifted 
with a funny faculty that has not been the 
fortune of' any boy, before or since his 
time. It was this : — he spent the lone 
hours of midnight in chatting with Mars. 
You may grin at such a statement, but it is 
really so. As I said before. Tad is dead 
now, and thus you must rely solely on ray 
word for the truth of this tale. You will 
grant me this courtesy I am sure. 

Well, the little fellow stole from his bed 
238 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


one night, because it was warm, and the 
mosquitoes insisted on buzzing their tunes. 
“ I must have air,” he said peevishly. As 
you may surmise, the air in his room was 
hot. So clad solely in his night robe he 
crept noiselessly out on the balcony, and 
began to indulge himself with his wonted 
practise of star-gazing and chatting with 
Mars. 

“ O, how calm and serene you are ! ” he 
sighed in ecstasy. “ How I yearn to go and 
talk to you more closely, but alas ! I can- 
not reach you,” and so he sat with his 
chubby face wedged between his hands, 
and chinned with Mars. What passed 
between them will never be known. 

“Come, my plump little chap, and I 
will take you to the moon,” broke in a 
harsh old voice that sounded as the squeak 
of a rusty wheel. Tad was startled. He 
glanced about him, but could see no one. 
“ My very thoughts are divined by some 
one,” he murmured. Just then a rustling 
noise fell upon his ears ; he lifted his eyes 
and there he beheld a grizzly witch astride 
a broom. At first glance Tad was alarmed, 
but then there was something calming 
about her haggard face, and so his fear 
went away. 

“ Would you like to ride to Mars ? ” asked 
239 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


the witch, now laying her bony hand on 
Tad’s soft hair. ‘‘ Sure I would,” said he, 
answering like a little man. “ I fear, though, 
my mother would miss me,” but then he 
winked. “ O, never,” said the witch with 
assurance. With this she lifted the amazed 
little chap upon the broom before her. 
Buzz ! went the broom. Like the flight of 
an arrow gracefully and swiftly, did they 
soar towards the sky. Tad shouted and 
clapped his hands for glee. The witch had 
a smile too. Higher and higher they flew, 
passing now and then a huge white cloud 
that seemed rolled up and sleeping for the 
night. The stars by degrees increased their 
size a thousand times, and they bathed Tad 
and the witch in their weird blue light ; 
but still higher than this did they soar. 
All about them at length became bright as 
the dawning of day, and here the little run- 
away’s eyes opened wider than ever. Yes, 
they were coming upon the planet, for now 
even its sulphur colored mountains were 
visible. 

“ O, who are those funny imps coming 
towards us ? ” gasped Tad, gripping the 
witch’s sleeves ; but time was not given 
her to answer, for they were instantly borne 
into the middle of a swarm of air-ships 
that buzzed through the clouds like big 
240 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


June bugs. Seated in eacb was a dwarf, 
so funny of face as to make Tad laugh be- 
hind his cap. 

They made menacing gestures at the in- 
truders, and Tad knew on the moment that 
the witch and himself were, forsooth, pris- 
oners. 

Scarcely a moment sped by, and they 
were standing in the presence of the ex- 
alted Bey or ruler of Mars, who, unlike 
his people, was great of stature and hand- 
some. After a time he blew a trumpet, 
and in stalked a very shaky old man hold- 
ing to a parchment. He halted before the 
two prisoners. The Bey, pointing angrily, 
said, “Unfold to me, sir, the secrets of 
these people.” The old man, beginning to 
quiver, spoke as follows : 

“ Worthy sir, at your bidding I will read 
to you what manner of beings these are, 
by peering into their countenances.” He 
drew near, and wrinkled up his face in a 
hideous way, as to his bleary eye he fixed 
a glass. “ This one,” said he, pointing to 
the wdtch, “is a crafty wicked person, 
devoid of all heart. She will work evil 
here in Mars, if she be let remain. This 
one,” continued the old fogey, turning on 
his heel as though on a pivot, and looking 
with a squint at Tad, “ is a good, pious 
1 6 241 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


little chap, yet untouched by anything of 
evil.” 

“ Whence come you, my little tot ? ” asked 
the seer. “ From the earth,” responded Tad 
in a clear voice. “ Ah, we must spare you, 
for your face tells you have a good heart, 
and an unsullied soul.” 

‘‘ ’Tis well,” shouted the Bey, waving 
away the seer with his golden scepter. 
And they bound the old witch in chains, 
and put her in a dungeon filled with ver- 
min and creeping things. Then came the 
Queen, modest of manner, and taking Tad 
by the hand brought him to her children. 
“ You are a kind, good Queen,” said Tad, 
kissing her silken slipper, “ and, 1 love you. 
But I would like to go back to earth again, 
for I surely will be missed.” “ It shall be 
as you will,” quoth the Queen. She sang 
out a few dulcet notes and a craft of 
dainty model poised in the air before them. 
Tad hopped into it saying good-bye as he 
did. The little adventurer nearly lost his 
breath, so rapid was his fiight. An hour of 
bewilderment passed, and the old moon 
peeked out just in time to see a frightened 
boy stealing through a window in the 
castle. 

In the morning Tad did hot tell any one 
of his adventure. Nor did he ever tell. 

242 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


He grew to be a man and he was good and 
pious, just as the seer said he would be. 
But as 1 have said before, he is dead now, 
and I feel that I am casting no murky 
cloud over his memory in telling you of 
the most notable experience of his life. 

Now, little friends, I suppose you have 
come to the conclusion that the hoary old 
seer of Mars has about the brightest mind 
that glistens in the intellectual firmament, 
because he unfolded a few secrets about 
Tad, by a mere glance of the eye. Well, 
with all due respect to the old man, I claim 
that most of you here on this humble sphere, 
can do the same thing. Yes, it is quite 
true that we bear upon our countenances 
the indexes of our characters. If it is true 
that the eye is the window of the soul, it is 
likewise true that the face is the reflector 
of the mind and heart. If this again be 
true then we must admit that we carry the 
key to our characters upon our faces. Yes, 
that is what the seer and I think. Of 
course Tad is dead or he would, I am sure, 
give us the weight of his sanction too. 

Little friends, God has created us all for 
His own wise purpose. We are so many 
little mites in a mosaic, and with His 
master-hand. He so places us as to con- 
tribute most to the beauty of His ideals. 

243 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


He did not give to every child a pretty 
face, but He has endowed all with a will 
and an intellect, enlightened by grace ; and 
if we use these faculties, in compliance 
with His holy Law, our hearts will be sin- 
less, then the light of peace will sweeten 
our every look and smile. Let me impress 
this idea : 

Before us there stands a child who, with 
foot upon the threshold of life, looks out 
upon the great world as upon a wonderland. 
He hears the song of the birds. He catches 
the fragrance of the blossom. He is as 
unsullied as the lily that blows modestly 
before him. As you look at that chaste 
little countenance, you are led to suspect 
that a cherub has stolen away for a mo- 
ment from its choir in heaven. Now let 
twenty years roll by ere you see that face 
again ; and let us suppose that in the mean- 
while that youthful heart turned from 
grace, having been led aside by the demon 
of lust and intemperance. With a shudder 
your eyes fall upon the scene before you. 
Can this youth of such coarse aspect be 
the development of that winning child of 
twenty years ago ? Yes, it is so. Sin with 
its touch of poison has molded those 
features into their present type. The 
sparkle of chastity that lit up the eye of 


TAD'S TRIP TO MARS. 


childhood, has long since been smothered. 
Ah yes, little, friends, the loveliness of face 
has been destroyed by the scars which vile 
thoughts and deeds have made, and this 
painful recasting of feature is going on as 
the years roll by. 

Perhaps you have seen, my little friends, 
those red rubber faces which boys buy at 
the toy store. Now if I were to take one 
of those faces and press it in the same way 
repeated times, it would soon take on a 
fixed distorted appearance. Just so with 
human countenances. A daily habit of 
virtue or vice will soon make the features 
accordingly pleasing or ugly. 

Some years ago in the city of Florence 
an artist went about in search of a model 
whom he would have pose for a picture of 
our Saviour. While walking along the noisy 
street one evening he saw a young man 
seated upon the steps of a church. The 
sweetness of his expression caught the eye 
of the artist. “ Ah ! ” he exclaimed as artists 
only can, “ what a picture that would make.” 
And so he approached the stranger gently. 
A few months later there appeared in ex- 
hibit, a picture of the Saviour that won the 
whole city. Three years now sped on when 
the Cardinal besought the artist to paint a 
portrait of Judas. He consented and 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


through many days he walked in quest of 
one whose expression would be as that of 
Judas. As night was coming on, the wearied 
artist stopped at a wayside inn, where rude 
characters were wont to be. He almost 
gasped as he caught the glare of a wicked 
gaze that riveted steadily upon him. “ Here 
is my model,” murmured he. As he viewed 
the face before him he sighed, “ What a 
pity, so young, but what a J udas ! ” 

And so with cautious words he drew near 
and made known his wish. But the unfor- 
tunate youth turned sullenly away and 
grew silent. Still the artist pressed his 
purpose offering the stranger much money 
to pose. But the latter’s head drooped 
upon his breast as he cried,” Oh, good sir ! 
you recall memories that pierce my very 
heart with remorse. But three years ago I 
stood as your model of Christ, and now can 
it be that I have fallen to resemble His be- 
trayer? No, never.” And so he turned 
and mingled with the crowd and the artist 
saw him no more. 

Now, little friends, I have said something 
I trust to convince you that your actions 
and mode of life will tend to modify your 
features and that to a degree of certainty 
your characters can be read therefrom. 

There is an old adage, “ Handsome is 
246 


TAD’S TRIP TO MARS. 


that handsome does.” By a virtuous life 
and a light heart you can so model your 
countenances that all will be pleased to look 
upon them. If you would have faces such 
that others would admire, then emulate the 
good and the noble in this life and you 
must bear a semblance to them, in time, 
even as to features. Associate, too, with 
good companions. You cannot but be in- 
fluenced by contact with them just as you 
cannot walk through a garden of roses with- 
out taking away some of their sweet odor. 


247 


IPclncess Florence’s 2)ream. 

WHAT CLOCKS TEACH. 

I DON’t mind telling you something in 
confidence, children, because you are my 
little friends. I have told you many of my 
inmost secrets already, because I know I 
can trust you. But be careful in safeguard- 
ing what I tell you now, lest divulging it, 
the anger of some Princess fall on me. 
It is this. I don’t like Princesses. Nor 
I never will, because as a rule they are 
haughty and proud. I know many Prin- 
cesses all over the world. Of all this 
number, however, there is only one I have 
any regard for. Her name is Florence. 
She is good and true. 

She sat one night on the side of her cozy 
little bed. She was very tired. Even the 
tiny rose in her hair seemed tired too, for 
its head was droping. During the whole 
evening she had danced and sung at the 
festival that her young friends had held in 
her honor. One by one the little serena- 
ders had departed with the merry call 
“ good-night.” Now the old castle had be- 
248 


PRINCESS FLORENCE'S DREAM. 


gun to take on its wonted somber stillness. 
She sat for a moment with her eyes fixed 
upon the face of the old clock, as though it 
really charmed her, though her thoughts 
were with her jolly little friends, the ring 
of whose laughter she could hear in the 
distance. Then as though some fairy wand 
had passed over her eyes they slowly closed : 
she yawned a few times and then dropped 
her curly head upon the soft pillow. A 
few moments passed and she was fast asleep. 
Her good old nurse drawing aside the heavy 
curtains peeped into the room, but when 
she saw her little charge sleeping she lowered 
the light and passed out as noiselessly as a 
vision. 

Soon the queerest sight that the eyes of 
a child ever beheld came before the Prin- 
cess. In marched pet pussy. On her head 
sat a cute little lace cap. She walked up- 
right too. Under her paw there was tucked 
a school book, and on her nose there was 
saddled a pair of spectacles. She picked 
up a tiny rod and began to rap loudly on 
the book. Instantly, from every corner, 
there came tumbling into the room a dozen 
or more sprightly little mice. They gath- 
ered around Miss Pussy and stood all 
attention as children do at class. But 
what made the Princess wonder more than 
249 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


all else was to learn that pussy and her 
class could talk. 

“ Do you know what the tall column is 
here,” said the teacher, pointing to the old 
clock that stood close by, swinging its 
pendulum in steady time. 

“ Yes, I know,” said the little chap at the 
head of the line. ‘‘ Our mistress calls it a 
clock.” 

“That is indeed its name,” said Miss 
Pussy ; “ but what is its use ? ” 

“ I can tell you,” answered a thin 
squeaky voice. “ It lets you know the hour 
of the day.” 

“ You are correct,” said the teacher. 
“ But does it teach us anything else ? ” 

To this question there came a long pause. 
The old clock stopped swinging his long 
thin arm, as though to better listen to 
what the mice might say of him. 

“Well! well! what a bright class you 
are,” said Miss Pussy laughing in scorn. 

“ Now listen, I will tell you. Many 
things indeed it teaches. 

But just then there came a loud rapping 
at the door. “ O, flee for your lives,” she 
cried to her bewildered pupils ; “ there is 
danger near at hand.” Through the door 
and under it they all darted as fast as they 
could. Miss Pussy threw away her book 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


and glasses and cronclied in fear near the 
divan on which the Princess was sleeping. 
The rapping noise grew all the while louder 
and at last an old withered hand reached 
through the curtains and touched the Prin- 
cess on the forehead. A voice called, 
“ Arise, my dear. His Lordship awaits your 
coming in the outer chamber.” 

The little dozer now seemed very much 
confused. 

“ O, nurse, why did you break up the 
class ? ” said the Princess, rubbing her eyes. 
“ Why, dear, what class ? asked the nurse, 
giving the little one a quizzical look. The 
Princess made no reply for a time, but fell 
on her knees quickly and looked under 
the couch, groping in all directions. “ What 
ails you, my dear ? ” said the nurse, “ you 
act so very strangely ? ” 

“ O, where is pussy ? ” besought the Prin- 
cess. 

“ Why, there she is,” said the nurse point- 
ing to pussy, who lay asleep on the mat. 

“ O, I see it all now,” said the Princess 
smiling ; “ you awoke me as I was dream- 
ing.” 

Now I think that the questions the pussy 
asked the mice were very sensible ones, 
and, as they were interrupted, I will answer 
in their stead. Does the clock teach us 
251 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


anything ? Yes, indeed, but we become so 
accustomed to his old face and tick that he 
at times fails to bear any meaning for us. 

First of all, he teaches us how very 
precious each moment of our lives is. As 
though the moments were so many grains 
of gold, he deals them out, so to speak, in 
clicks or measures. The smallest measures 
are the seconds, then come the minutes, and 
lastly the hours. Now, the next time you 
notice a clock, you will observe that one 
hand is longer than the other. Why is 
that ? Pie points out minutes with his long 
hand to tell us in so many words,“ My young 
friend, look you well to the minutes, use 
them well, and the hours will take care of 
themselves.-’ This is, of course, very true. 
If you employ each moment of the day, as it 
flies by, in a holy way, the hours are bound 
to be well spent, and so are the days and 
the years. Remember that with each tick 
of the clock our lives are slipping away. 

Here is something about time that should 
make you reflect very much. Once spoiled 
it can never be repaired. Should you break 
one of your little toys, you can patch it up 
and make it again as good as new. Not so 
with time : It does not wait to be redeemed, 
but flies off into eternity, bearing with it 
the record of your folly. Now should you 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


have been guilty of waste of time, do not 
feel gloomy about it. What does a little 
boy do who is engaged in a race when he 
begins to fall in the rear ? Why, he just 
puts on an extra burst of speed, and he is 
soon moving along with the leaders. So 
should you do with time. Catch up now. 
If you have been losing time in the past, 
employ it well henceforth. 

One day little Mabel brought a clock to 
the repair shop. “ Sir,” she said, “ I think 
it has heart trouble.” 

“Very well,” said the old man, without 
saying a word to correct her false notions. 
“ All your time-piece needs, is regulating,” 
and glancing at the great clock that hung 
on the wall he set the hands of the dis- 
ordered one accordingly. Well, your hearts 
are often affected as was Mabel’s clock. 
They need regulating : they do not keep 
time with God’s great clock. Their tiny 
beats or ticks now and then fail to keep 
pace with the great clock of His Divine 
will. Then they must be brought to the 
spiritual clock-maker, the good priest, and 
he will regulate them so as to make them 
work in unison with God’s great clock. 

Did you ever see a cuckoo clock ? I sup- 
pose you did. Well, when the end of the 
hour comes, how cute it is to see the little 
253 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


bird marcli out on his front porch, point 
his head heavenward and send out a shrill 
note for each hour. Now, I wonder how 
many there are who do as the cuckoo 
does. I wonder how many raise their 
hearts and heads to God as each hour goes 
by, and whisper a prayer of thanksgiving 
for the gifts of precious time ! How many 
of you bless the hour ? If you have not 
heretofore been in the habit of doing this, 
begin now to conform with this precious 
custom. As you pass along the street and 
you hear the chimes of the tower ringing 
out the hour, bring your mind to reflect : 
I must remember I am in the holy presence 
of God. I adore His Divine Majesty. That 
tolling tells me another span of life is passed, 
another bead in the rosary of life has slipped 
through my Angers. 

Once there was a king who desired to 
keep in mind at all times the fact that he 
must die. So he elected one of his cour- 
tiers to come before him at the close of 
each hour and repeat these words, “Re- 
member, O King, thou, too, are mortal.” 
We have no courtiers to perform this office 
for us, but I think the little tongue of the 
clock answers the purpose very well. 

But would you believe that clocks can 
acquire reputations just as boys . and girls 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


can ? Yes they can. Some of them are 
considered very reliable, and so men be- 
lieve whatever they indicate, but should 
one deceive or prove false, which means 
keep bad time, then its owner will never 
put faith in it again, even though it will 
try ever so hard to regain its reputation 
for correctness. It will soon be discarded, 
and another will take its place, l^ow, the 
same idea may be applied to children. 
Every one believes that they are good and 
innocent. But suppose that a child should 
some day deceive, say his father. Its little 
face may not show that anything is wrong, 
but when the father once detects that he 
has been deceived, he will never again place 
confidence in what that deceitful child may 
say. 

Now, you must agree that the poor old 
clock on which you spend only a casual 
glance is after all a wise old teacher. It 
tells us, that time is even more precious 
than gold. It will be happy for us one 
day if we use it well now. King David 
once prayed, “ O Lord, so teach us to 
number our days that we may apply our 
hearts to wisdom. The child who does 
nothing with his time is, in the eyes of all, 
worth nothing. Suppose your old clock 
at home were to ask you some day, “ What 


PRINCESS FL@RENCE’S DREAM. 


use are you making of the golden hours as 
lam measuring them out?” Would you 
not be confused at the question? Would 
you not be forced to hang your head and 
say, “ O, Mr. Clock, I blush to answer what 
you ask. I have frittered them away. Like 
a piece of old scrap paper I have thrown 
them aside.” Remember that as the clock 
looks at you during the day so does the all- 
seeing eye of God. Work for Him alone, 
and not because you are watched by your 
parents or instructors. St. Paul says, “ Be 
not eye servants,” that is, do not work only 
when you are watched and idle when you 
are alone. 

But think especially well of what I am 
going to tell you now. Remember that 
above every clock there is an angel stand- 
ing, who, day and night, is recording the way 
in which you use the moments as they tick 
by. And when the clock has clicked its 
last ; when its spring has been worn out, 
that is when life is over, the record, the an- 
gel has been keeping all through the years, 
will then be opened before you and Christ 
alone. I trust that as you face your Judge, 
you will not be forced to employ the words 
of Peter, who being told by our Lord to 
launch his boat, exclaimed, ‘‘Master, we 
have labored all night and have taken 
256 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


nothing.” So shall the idler of time sigh 
on the day of reckoning, “Lord, I have 
used up the precious moments You gave 
me and in them I have taken nothing for 
heaven.” 

But I must not forget to give a mention 
to our faithful little friend, the alarm clock. 
His work is important too, and he does it 
very faithfully. When you are slumbering 
soundly, he sprinkles his silvery notes into 
your ears just at the moment you requested 
him, and he says, “ Get up, little one ; God 
has given you another day of life. Get up, 
dawn is here.” 

His piercing voice is so like the voice of 
grace. Not you so much as the older ones 
may at times fall into the slumber of sin, 
and may become insensible to all prompt- 
ings of grace. O, this is a slumber indeed 
that is pitiable, for one may never awake 
from it. The notes of the alarm, that voice 
of conscience, now and then rings out 
clear and strong, “ Awake, my child ; you 
have slept long enough in darkness and 
in sin. Come, get up and go out into the 
sweet morning air and the sunlight of 
God’s grace.” 

Now just a few more words to you and 
and we shall bid good-bye to Mr. Clock. 
I hope in future, when any one asks you 
17 257 


PRINCESS FLORENCE’S DREAM. 


wliat the clock teaches you, you will not 
be like these little mice at whom the pussy 
laughed because of their dulness. If you 
have been little idlers in the past begin to- 
day to think more seriously of the great 
value of time. Do, as St. Paul advises, 
“Kedeem the time.” What does ‘redeem’ 
mean ? It means to buy back. 

May the Good Lord grant that when the 
hands of your clock stop, never to go again, 
you will be able to say with St. Paul, “ I 
have redeemed the time and now in return 
I will enjoy a blissful eternity.” 


258 


Zbc Snail’s IDictor^. 


don’t be discouraged at failures. 

“ Come, come, Mr. Snail, you must move 
more nimbly than that if you wish to see 
the great boat-race this morning ! See, here 
I go ! O, pshaw ! I can’t wait for you, I’ll 
run on ahead ! ” It was Mr. Grasshopper 
who piped out these words as he came 
bounding by Mr. Snail one fine morning, 
as the latter was trudging along in the direc- 
tion of the old mill-pond. 

“ See here, Mr. Grasshopper,” said Mr. 
Snail, growing a little angry at so much 
chiding, “ the good Lord has endowed you 
with a set of long, limber legs ; no wonder 
you move so sprightly. To me, He has 
given only short, little creepers, besides I 
have the burden of a shell on my back.” 

Impolite, as Mr. Grasshopper was, he did 
not tarry to hearken to Mr. Snail’s excuses, 
but skipped ahead, his green coat-tails fly- 
ing in the breeze. At this slight, poor Mr. 
Snail paused for a moment and sighed. 
His feelings were hurt, but he soon started 
off with a determined nod of his head. 

259 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


“ O friends,” said Mr. Grasshopper, jump- 
ing into the meeting hall, “ you will laugh 
when I tell you who is coming down the 
lane, — Mr. Snail, just think of it ! ” “ What 
on earth can he want here, I wonder ? ” said 
Mr. Spider, climbing over the heads of all. 
“He is going to enter the race, I suppose,” 
chimed in Mr. Beetle. At this remark, all 
present laughed heartily. The idea of such 
a thing ! 

Their noisy merriment had just died 
away when Mr. Snail, seeming somewhat 
tired, crawled through the grassy door. 
“ My worthy Princess,” said he, bowing to 
Miss Wren, “I have heard of your generous 
offering of prizes to the one of your subjects 
who shall prove himself the best oarsman on 
yonder mill-pond, sol have come a distance.” 
“ To witness the race, of course,” broke in 
Miss Wren. “ No, no, but to take part in 
it,” said Mr. Snail. 

“ O, what a foolish fellow that is ! ” all 
present murmured. Miss Wren hid her 
face behind her wing for laughter. “ Very 
well, be it so,” said the Princess, resuming 
her haughty air. “You may row if you 
choose, but really I fear you will have no 
chance. Do you not see about you here 
athletes fleet of foot and strong of limb, 
who are going to glide over the water this 
260 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


morning ? ” O, do not discourage him/^ 
buzzed Mr. Bumblebee. It will be fun for 
us all to see him splashing away in his 
clumsy shell.” Mr. Snail looked at the 
floor in silence. 

The cricket band now began their music, 
a grand march it was. All the contestants 
flled out one by one to the strains of the 
harmony. Soon, each was seated in his 
odd little shell of bark, ready to pull the 
flrst stroke. “ Are you ready ? Go ! ” cried 
the Princess, fluttering her wing as though 
it were a flag of signal. Instantly there 
was a great splash of water. The tiny 
oars dipped and rose again, their blades 
glittering in the sun. They had not moved 
two feet, when Mr. Beetle, pulling too 
vigorously, broke his oar. His little craft 
swung around like a top, and soon sank. 
Mr. Gadfly used his wings as well as his 
oars and so he was disqualified. Then a 
mishap befell Mr. Spider. A fat little fly 
came sailing close to his head ; he leaped 
to catch it and fell overboard. This acci- 
dent happened just as the little paddlers 
were turning for the homeward course. 
All the while Princess Wren sat on the 
bank enjoying the sight -very much. Only 
three now remained in the race : Mr. Grass- 
hopper, Mr. Wasp, and Mr. Snail. “ See 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


poor Mr. Snail trailing in the rear,” said the 
Princess. He has no chance to win, but 
he keeps paddling away.” 

The finish line was not now far away ; a 
few more strokes and the race would be 
over. At this juncture Mr. Wasp made 
some caustic remark about the grasshopper’s 
long green coat which angered the latter 
very much. One cross word provoked 
another until finally they became engaged 
in a vicious quarrel. By this time Mr. 
Snail had caught up to them. He smiled 
as he moved noiselessly by. He pulled a 
few more steady strokes and then he glided 
over the line the winner of the race. 

“Well,” said he as he crawled along 
with the prize tucked away in his pocket, 
“ slow as I may be, I am glad that I did 
not become discouraged in the race.” 

What a strange little tale is this, little 
friends ; yet I tell it to convey some lesson 
not only to you but to others who may read 
it. This is the lesson : 

Many little ones are snails as regards the 
activity of their minds. I do not say that 
it is their fault, but Almighty God has 
endowed them wdth intellects that do not 
work as rapidly as their companions. 

Very often they are prone to become 
dispirited when they see how slowly they 
262 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


progress, and how quickly their fellow 
companions, who work less diligently, get 
along. 

For little ones so fixed in life I have 
fashioned this story. Do not let the 
thought take hold of you, that only those 
possessed of quick working and retentive 
minds — “ smart ones,” as you call them, 
will always win the prizes in life — not at 
all. Ofttimes the snails, those having less 
brilliant mental qualities come oft* the 
victors in life’s struggle. If slow of mind, 
if you cannot learn a lesson as quickly as 
many others, be not discouraged at your 
failure or tardiness. Keep paddling away. 
You will win in the end as surely as the 
snail did. 

But then you may say, ‘‘ O, it is so hard 
to be compelled to suffer the sneers and 
taunts of my companions when I fail.” 
Was not the poor snail laughed at when he 
said he would enter the race, and yet heed- 
less of the jeers that were levied at him, 
he won. Obstacles must stand in the way 
of every child in one form or other. But, 
reflect, little ones, for whom you are work- 
ing. Is it for the world, for applause, for 
time ? No, but for eternity, for your salva- 
tion. Your good Lord in heaven will not 
let pass by without reward the least of 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


your efforts. He bore mucli for you in the 
way of insult and mockery. Take up your 
little cross then and toddle after Him. 

One day a little boy at school named 
Eddie, was given a problem to do. Upon 
the correct solution of this problem de- 
pended his chance of receiving the best 
prize. For hours and hours did he work 
and yet the proper answer did not result. 
“ I will give it up,” he said at last throw- 
ing down his pencil. He began to look 
out the window at the sheep on the hill- 
side and wish he was one of them. After 
a few moments a look of interest stole over 
his face. Near by in the corner there hung 
an old cobweb. Among its silken meshes 
a poor little fly had entangled itself. The 
little fellow’s heart went out in pity to the 
poor fly. He said to himself, “ When the 
cruel old spider pops out of his hiding- 
place, good-bye to Mr. Fly. Ah ! I will go 
over and free its wings. But just then the 
little captive by a mighty effort broke the 
bonds and flew across the room, and he 
really seemed to laugh at the boy as he 
darted through the air. “Well,” said 
Eddie, biting his lips, “ no fly is going to 
surpass me in being resolute.” His pencil 
now began to click on the slate as though 
he were a telegraph-operator. In a few 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


moments his little feet were pattering the 
floor with excessive joy. “ I have it,” he 
whispered, I have it now. The prize will 
be mine ! ” 

Don’t you know, children, that a child 
who will give up a task, because things at 
times become discouraging, really forfeits all 
right to the respect of his companions. 
Why, one of the proudest titles a boy can 
confer on his ideal chum is that he is a 
“ plucky lad,” he has plenty of grit, etc., 
All these are really encomiums that every 
boy should strive to merit. 

Many years ago in Greece there lived a 
flaxen-haired youth. Theseus was his 
name, and he was of royal birth. While 
surrounded with luxury of every kind, 
there was a secret sorrow in his heart, for 
he with his mother, Aethra, was an exile, 
he knew not why, from his father’s palace. 
One evening he came to his mother and 
said, while resting his head on her shoulder, 
“ Why can I not go home, I have been ex- 
iled so long ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you, child,” said she 
tenderly stroking his cheek and peering 
into his eyes as though she beheld a vision 
there. You are but a tiny boy as yet. See 
if you can lift that rock beside you. Now 
the rock was deeply imbedded in the ground 
265 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


and its top was clad in moss. The little 
fellow had a great opinion of his strength, 
so grasping the rock firmly he tugged and 
toiled, but it moved not. Soon he became 
quite out of breath. His mother stood 
looking on with a sad smile, to see the zealous, 
yet puny efforts of the boy. You see 
how it is, Theseus, said she. “ You must 
possess far more strength than you do now 
before you can go to Athens. When you are 
able to lift that rock I promise you can set 
off. 

Often and often after this Theseus asked 
his mother whether it was time to go to 
Athens, and still she pointed to the rock 
and told him that it would be years be- 
fore he would be able to lift it. And 
again the curly-headed boy would tug at 
the huge mass, striving, child as he was, to 
do what a giant could scarcely have done. 
Meanwhile the rock seemed to sink further 
and further into the gound. The moss grew 
over it thicker and thicker, until it looked 
like a soft green seat. The trees above 
stretched their long arms over it, and shed 
their brown leaves upon it as the Autumn 
came. At its base grew ferns and wild 
flowers. To all appearance the rock was so 
firmly fastened that no power on earth 
could budge it. 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


Theseus was now grown up to be a 
vigorous youth, and every time he came 
near the rock he would mutter with clinched 
fists, “ I’ll move it some day ; I will never 
give up.” 

“ Mother, I do believe it has started,” he 
would murmur after some of his attempts. 

“No, no, child,” his mother quickly 
would answer. “ It is not possible that you 
could have moved it, such a boy as you are 
still.” Then he would sigh and sit aside 
in the shade and say, “ I will try again to- 
morrow, I must keep on.” 

Years of fruitless effort rolled by when 
they were again seated near the moss-cov- 
ered stone. Aethra was telling him the oft- 
repeated story of his father, how gladly he 
would receive Theseus at the palace, and 
present him to his courtiers and people as 
their prince. The eyes of Theseus glowed 
with desire, he could hardly sit still to hear 
his mother speak. 

“Dear mother,” he exclaimed, jumping 
to his feet “ I am no longer a child ; I feel 
myself a man. To-day shall I move that 
stone.” Then he bent himself to his task. 
He heaved, he lifted, and he resolved to 
succeed or perish there and let the rock 
be his monument forever. As Aethra stood 
with clasped hands gazing at him, the 
267 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


great rock stirred ! Yes, he raised it 
slowly from its mossy bed, uprooting the 
shrubs near it and turned it over on its side. 
Theseus had conquered. 

“ Behold, Theseus,” said his mother. 
“ See what glitters in the cavity.” “ It is 
gold,” said he springing to grasp it. 

‘‘ Ah, it is more than gold, my boy,” she 
said. “ Here are your father’s sword and 
sandals.” 

I will set out for Athens this very 
day,” cried Theseus kissing his mother. 
And so he became a powerful prince, and 
his people loved him. 

Now, children, it is not necsssary that I 
should point out to you the moral of this 
story. You have already grasped its 
teaching. To accomplish anything in this 
life, either in the spiritual or the natural 
wwld, you must tug day in and day out too 
in the face of discouraging events. You 
become disheartened with your little tasks 
at school, let us say. Best in the shade 
awhile, keep up a stout heart, and go at it 
again. It may take months, it may need 
years to come out ahead. But remember 
that under every single stone of disappoint- 
ment there lies buried a golden treasure. 
When you have grasped that treasure finally 
you will thank God you did not give up. 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY, 


You will unearth a sword which you can 
wield to beat down everything that would 
entangle your feet as you march on to suc- 
cess. 

Remember, too, that many of those who 
now claim a large share of the world’s 
praise for their noble and brilliant deeds 
were as youths not all noted for being 
bright. As the boys now style it, they 
were tail-enders. What led them finally 
to do signal success ? Why plodding away 
with stout heart, just as did Mr. Snail, and 
Theseus. 

Now, children, I have purposely strung 
together these little stories, seemingly dis- 
regarding order, having in view one idea, 
namely, to impress you with the importance 
of persevering. So before I close I will 
tell you another short story to further my 
purpose. 

Away down south a young darkey once 
sat by the wayside. Down his ebony 
cheeks, like silver drops, tears were cours- 
ing, and by his feet a stream danced along 
into the woodland. 

“ Oh ! you lil’ brook,” he sighed. Wish 
I was happy and free as you, but I isn’t.” 
Just then he heard footsteps rustling 
through the leaves. He turned and saw 
the face of the old parson beaming on him. 

269 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


“ Wha’ you weepin’ for, chile ? ” said the 
old man, laying his hand gently upon the 
little wooly head. And the full round eyes 
looked up into the parson’s face ; the secret 
of sorrow was soon confided. 

“ Well, I hab no time to stay and gladden 
yo’ young heart, chile,” he whispered, “ but 
here, read dis lil’ poem,” then he passed 
from view along the road. 

These were the lines : 

I. 

If the day looks kinder gloomy, 

An’ your chances kinder slim ; 

If the situation's puzzlin’ 

An’ the prospects awful grim, 

An’ perplexities keep pressin’ 

Till all hope is nearly gone. 

Jus’ bristle up and grit your teeth, 

An’ keep on keepin’ on. 

II. 

Fumin’ never wins a fight 
An’ frettin’ never pays ; 

There ain’t no good in broodin’ in 
These pessimistic ways — 

Smile jus’ kinder cheerfully 
When hope is nearly gone. 

An’ bristle up, and grit your teeth 
An’ keep on keepin’ on. 

III. 

There ain’t no use in growlin’ 

An’ grumblin’ all the time. 

When music’s ringin’ everywhere, 

An’ everything’s a rhyme — 

270 


THE SNAIL’S VICTORY. 


Jus’ keep on smilin’ cheerfully, 

If hope is nearly gone, 

An’ bristle up, and grit your teeth. 

An’ keep on keepin’ on. 

So, children, in whatever affair you may 
be engaged, when the clouds begin to lower, 
look through the gloom to the bright days 
ahead, an “ keep on keepin’ on.” 


271 


Dincent^s Dream. 


Oh ! sister, you do not know how very 
lonesome I am to-night, I feel as though I 
were alone in the world. If mother had 
not died, I could bear up bravely. But 
now that she is gone from me to Heaven, I 
wish that I too were there.” These were 
the words that little Vincent Plorans sighed 
to Sister Teresa, as she stood by his bed- 
side to bid him ‘‘good-night.” Though 
dimly the light burned, she could see the 
tears like little drops of silver running down 
his pretty face. Yes, poor Vincent’s mother 
had been buried that very morning, and he 
was spending his first night in the Orphans’ 
Home. 

Sister Teresa spoke very kindly indeed to 
Vincent, in trying to soothe his bruised heart, 
but the soft low music of her voice, only 
seemed to have the contrary effect of coax- 
ing out the sobbing. 

The gentle sister, seeing after a time the 
effect of her words, sat down, by his little 
cot, and I saw the pearly beads passing 
272 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


through her fingers like little tots coming 
out of church, one by one. Every few 
moments she would turn her eyes upon the 
curly head buried in the pillow. 

Silence is sometimes the best consoler for 
aching hearts, and aching heads too. So it 
proved to be in this instance. Little by 
little the sobbing quieted down. Now a 
sigh heaved from the little orphan’s bosom. 
Slowly his eyes closed. Gentle slumber 
now wrapped him in her arms so the 
faithful sister withdrew, making no more 
noise than the rustle of an angel’s wing. 
She had scarcely withdrawn her presence, 
when, lo ! the fairest creature that human 
eyes ever saw, drew near to the bedside of 
Vincent. Eyes tender and beautiful now 
met his gaze. A smile played on the face 
of the heavenly being. His robe was as 
white as the driven snow. It was in truth 
an angel ! Vincent had often read about 
angels but he never expected to behold 
one, in this world at least. 

“ My dear child,” you are lonely for your 
mother, aren’t you ? ” said the angel, press- 
ing his lips to Vincent’s troubled brow.” 
“ Oh, yes, good spirit, I am,” the little chap 
made answer. Say,” said he, changing his 
cry to another key, “you can bring me to 
heaven, can’t you? Just leave me at the 
i8 273 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


gate. I will find my way.” The angel 
smiled at the boy’s simple faith, and said, 
“ You trust in me. Come then to paradise ! ” 

Softly as a cloud of incense they began to 
rise heavenward. High, higher up they 
soared. Oh ! where am I ? ” gasped the 
young boy. Hark ! whence comes that 
melcdy ? “ Ah ! ” said the angel, “ you are 
now nearing the portals of paradise, where 
your mother dwells. Space is nothing to a 
spirit, you know.” By a light that 
crept about him gradually, as the dawn, he 
saw thousands of heavenly spirits encircling 
a great white throne, singing in harmony 
the while. 

Their music swelled and grew sweeter as 
it swelled. He had often seen the glory 
of the setting sun, but this scene was a 
thousand times more entrancing. “ Oh ! 
who is that young Queen so very lovely, 
surrounded by that choir of angels ? ” cried 
Vincent pointing with his finger. 

“ That,” said the angel, “ is Our Blessed 
Lady. Would you like to speak to her ? ” 
“ O yes ! hurry me to her,” said the de- 
lighted little chap, biting the tips of his 
fingers, “ she knows I love her.” 

With the rapidity almost of light, Vin- 
cent was borne along through the scented 
courts. Quick as a fiash evervthing, just 
274 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


here, grew dark. The little youngster, in 
terror, put out his hand and cried, “ Oh ! 
angel, where are you ? Lead me on. All 
is so dark.” 

A rumbling noise almost deafened him. 
He heard the voices of children moaning. 
“ Oh, what is this, where am I ? ” Vincent 
now screamed. 

Suddenly a light darted into his eyes, 
but one far less brilliant than that he first 
beheld. A gladdening face moved close to 
his. It was not that of the angel. 

“ Why are you moaning, Vincent, my 
child,” called a gentle spirit. His two 
little eyes bulged with fright, but he grew 
calm. Then said he as he awoke, “ Oh ! 
didn’t I get back quick ? Now the good 
sister thought then, as she ever has since, 
that Vincent was dreaming. He told me 
later on, however, that he never dreamed 
night or day. So I am prone to think, as 
Vincent did himself, that he was really 
led to heaven, just for a visit. 

I am sure, little friends, that you are 
gladdened to know that a tiny chap like 
Vincent was led into paradise by an angel, 
even though the visit was very short. 

Wouldn’t it have been nice, if he had 
been left there? Yes, but he had a lovely 
trip as it was. You, children, will have 
275 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


that trip some day, I hope, never to return, 
when you go thither at the close of your 
lives. You must do a little work for the 
Master, however, before He will call you to 
Himself. 

Oh ! gracious, I know so many sweet 
things to say about heaven, that the 
thoughts crowd and jostle one another like 
little apples rolling out of a barrel. So I 
can’t say anything. 

Don’t you think we ought to spend our 
time in shaping out means of getting there 
rather than dreaming about it ? I think 
so. We know how good God is, so it 
won’t be hard to picture, what a handsome 
home He has fitted up for the little folks 
that love and serve Him here below. 
What’s the use in hurting our imaginations 
anyhow, since St. Paul says, “ Eye hath 
not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it en- 
tered into the heart of man to conceive 
what God has prepared for those that love 
Him. 

You will smile, I know, when I tell you 
that every one must have a ticket to get to 
heaven. What is that ticket ? It is the rec- 
ord of a virtuous life. Oh ! won’t it be 
an awful thing to be turned away from the 
gates of paradise on the last day ? You bet 
it will! 


276 


VINCENT'S DREAM. 


That reminds me. A little friend of 
mine named Packie, set out one day to go 
to the circus. Some boys like circuses. 
Within the big white tent he heard the 
band playing, and there was laughter every- 
where. He began to go through the grand 
gate, when a strong voice called out, “ Say, 
little boy, where is your ticket ? ” I haven’t 
any, mumbled Packie, rolling his knuckle 
into his eye to block a tear. Then go ’way 
from here,” said the stern man in uniform. 
Packie did his bidding instantly, though 
his poor little heart was crushed. As he 
scampered home over the lonely fields, he 
could hear the music and laughter growing 
every moment more faint, then he heard 
them no more. 

I couldn’t help thinking then, as I saw 
the poor little chap disappear into the dark- 
ness, what a type this was of the child who 
will be turned away from the pleasure- 
ground of paradise on the last day, because 
of having no spiritual fund to gain admit- 
tance. 

But pshaw ! why should I talk so, this 
will never happen to you. All of you, I 
know, have your hearts set on heaven even 
now, just as the mariner directs his ship 
toward the haven even from the instant of 
setting out. 


277 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


Do not be surprised if I tell you I can 
give you directions for reaching heaven 
without fail. 

First of all, keep your little hearts free 
from the taint of the world and sin. Noth- 
ing defiled can enter heaven, you know. 
Secondly, you must persevere day after day 
in your efforts to trudge up the hill which 
bears the traces of your Master’s journey. 

Little folks in Switzerland sometimes go 
in groups to climb a mountain, just at sun- 
set, to see the “ King of Glory ” go down 
the western slope in his blazing chariot. I 
have heard that some have climbed until 
they almost reached the summit, then be- 
coming wearied, and relaxing their holds 
have fallen into the yawning chasm below. 

There are some young folks who climb 
towards heaven for a few years, who remain 
loyal to the lessons of their school-days, 
but who when near the summit, that is the 
end of life, lose their love of holiness, and 
fall into the chasm of hell. 

Do you, little children, keep your eyes 
fixed on the summit whereon your Lord 
dwells, and is waiting for you. Thither 
you must tend. When you have once 
reached there you can rest, and cool your 
fevered brows, and soothe your parched lips 
at the fountain of crystal water. You will 
278 


VINCENT’S DREAM. 


then exclaim, as so many thousands have 
done before you. “ Oh ! I am so glad I 
kept up my climbing. It was hard, but 
now it is all over. I will lay down my 
burden for evermore.” 



279 


JEvangcIfnc. 


ETERNAL SEPARATION. 

As I sit down to write you a little tale 
to-day, children, the clouds are frowning 
at me, and the chill rain is pattering at the 
windows. The seared leaves too are chasing 
around in a crazy fashion, as they are fleeing 
from the howling winds. The fall is 
coming on. So I am prone to think of 
gloomy things. I cannot help letting my 
thoughts drift into a gloomy channel. I 
will tell you, then, the story of Evangeline. 

Many miles away to the north, there 
stood, in the long ago, a beautiful village, 
called Grand Pre. Its many cozy white 
houses dotted here and there a fruitful 
valley. About this happy place, on all 
sides, were stretched fields upon fields of 
fruits and flowers. Silvery brooks went 
winding through the meadows and to the 
sea, and on the green banks the laughing 
children of the village would through the 
warm days sit and dabble their tiny feet in 
the chastening waters or send their frail 
2S0 


EVANGELINE. 


boats adown the stream. The farmers 
worked away in the fields with light hearts, 
and you could catch, now and then, the 
faint echo of their merry laughter and 
song, or hear the shrill note of the whistling 
plow-boy, as he followed the horses over 
the furrows. Within the homes the wives 
and the maidens, in their snow-white caps, 
sat spinning the golden flax. And their 
faces told the story of their souls. So the 
days and months passed sweetly along and 
no happier place in the world could be 
found than the village of Grand Pre. 

Of all the young maidens of that village, 
there was none with sweeter face or purer 
soul than Evangeline, the daughter of 
Benedict the farmer. There was not a youth 
of the town who had not a smile to 
spend on her as she passed along the street. 
Like most little ones she had one favorite 
or chum. Close by her house there lived a 
bright-eyed little fellow whose name was 
Gabriel. His father was a blacksmith by 
trade and very often before school hour the 
sturdy little man would linger by the door 
of his father’s shop and look slyly up the 
street to see if Evangeline were coming. 
When at last she would swing into view 
Gabriel would run off to meet her, and 
hand in hand they would stand and watch 
281 


EVANGELINE. 


the smith, who seemed bursting with light, 
swing his mighty blows. 

In tarrying thus, they were often late for 
school, and so, in being punished, they be- 
came the sharers of each other’s joys and 
sorrows. 

Thus passed a few swift years and they 
were no longer children. Gabriel became 
a gallant young man, and Evangeline was 
called the “ sunshine of St. Eulalie ” be- 
cause she scattered merriment wherever 
she went. 

One evening the good father of Evange- 
line invited many to his house to enjoy his 
cheer. The guests came in twos and 
threes and soon the little home was filled 
with happy faces. Gabriel and Evangeline 
remained without, chatting with some of 
their little friends. Suddenly the music 
stopped, and Evangeline saw her old father 
come hastening down the path. ‘‘ Oh, my 
children, he said, “ I have sad news for you ! 
For days the hostile war-ships of the Eng- 
lish have been in the harbor. I did not 
then say anything, trusting the danger 
would pass. O, if they drive us from our 
homes, whither shall we go ? ” This quiver- 
ing cry was just dying away when a band 
of soldiers rushed athwart the pathway. 
The commander drawing his sword declared 
282 


EVANGELINE. 


every one a prisoner. Now came the sad- 
dest scene of all. The gloom of night was 
coming on, and the faces of all grew ghastly 
as they stood looking toward the shore. 

The trumpets at last began to blare, and 
the drums to roll. The soldiers, holding 
their bayonets fixed, drove ahead of them 
toward the shore the dwellers of that 
Acadian village. The good Father Felician 
was about, with crucifix in hand, trying to 
soothe the broken hearts. Floating over all, 
came the sweet yet sad note of the distant 
Angelus bell that was ringing for the last 
time. In mad confusion Evangeline had 
been parted from her loved companions. 
“ Oh ! Gabriel. Oh ! Benedict, where are 
you ? ” she cried. But her voice was like a 
whisper, smothered in a storm. She could 
not be heard. She was swept along in the 
maddened human torrent into the hold of 
the waiting prison ship. The mooring was 
soon loosened and it started for the sea. 
Evangeline with her hands pressed tightly 
against her brow, and weeping bitterly, 
cast one steady glance at her home that was 
now in flames. “ Oh ! ” she moaned, “ I shall 
behold no more, my friends in the village 
of Grand Pre.” 

While this story, little friends, may be 
somewhat interesting, it is one that you do 
283 


EVANGELINE. 


not like to hear, because unlike most 
stories its ending is disappointing. You 
will know, however, why it ends so, when I 
tell you I have chosen it to impress you with 
a scene which will one day come to pass, 
unwelcome as it may be. This is a type 
of the final separation on the Last Day, when 
the wicked shall be taken apart from those 
they may have loved, and driven into ban- 
ishment. 

God knows, little friends, that the last 
judgment, with all its accompanying terror, 
is awful to think of. But I am going to 
take one phase of it only, the pain of 
separation. 

It seems to me I can still see the despair- 
ing face of Evangeline as she looked upon 
the home she was to see no more. What 
was it that caused her the deepest pain ? 
It surely was the separation from the par- 
ents she so loved and from Gabriel. If 
they had been on the ship with her she 
could easily have borne with the banish- 
ment. As the ship headed for the sea, 
however, she felt how bitter it was to be 
torn from father and home and loved ones. 
No wonder she stood at the stern of the 
vessel and cried : “ Oh ! how bitter is this 
separation, I shall see my home no more in 
the village of Grand Pre.” 

284 


EVANGELINE. 


Truly, little friends, on tke final day 
this pain of separation will be the portion 
of the wicked. The Heavenly Commander 
and His angels will come and will part 
many, not for time alone, but for all eternity. 
By God’s just decrees all unrepenting sin- 
ners will be driven aboard the dismal ship 
whose destiny shall be the eternal sea of 
gloom. The pilot of the ship shall be Satan. 
They shall sail out into the channel and 
behold the fair home of paradise, the home 
lost by sin and folly, and they shall hear 
the Angelus too, toned by angel’s voices, 
which every moment shall grow fainter 
and fainter and shall at last die away. O, 
the burden of the cry of the lost will then 
be, “We shall behold no more our friends 
and loved ones in the Kingdom of God’s 
Love. 

Little friends, I regret that I cannot bring 
a more pleasant picture before you to-day, 
but you have no reason to grow uneasy, for 
judgment holds terror only for wicked 
folks, and you are good. Now to encourage 
you to be watchful, I am going to repeat 
an old parable : A bride and a groom once 
said to their friends, “ To-night our cer- 
emony is to take place. As we come to 
the mansion meet us at the door with lamps, 
so that the ceremony may be beautiful.” 

285 


EVANGELINE. 


Only ten fair young friends of the couple 
were invited. 

The evening came, the moon rose and the 
night grew calm. Now it was taken as a 
great insult to the party to meet them 
without holding a lamp. And the ten 
young folks waited long, but the festive 
party came not. So, growing tired, they 
rested on the steps and soon five of them 
fell fast asleep. An hour went by when a 
cry was raised, “ O, see ! let us arise, the 
bridegroom cometh.” The five that had 
fallen asleep became confused at these 
words, and said they, “ O, give us of your 
oil, for our lamps have gone out.” But the 
wise virgins made answer, “We cannot, 
lest perhaps we have not enough for our- 
selves.” As each moment passed, the bridal 
train came nearer. 

In the confusion, the foolish virgins ran 
to the store near by to purchase some. 
They tarried too long, however, for when 
they came out all was as still as death. 
Then said they, “ Alas, the bridegroom has 
entered the mansion and the doors have 
been bolted.” So they began to weep, and 
knocking at the door they begged to be 
admitted. “Lord, Lord open unto us,” 
they pleaded, but He looking out into the 
darkness where they stood, made answer, 


EVANGELINE. 


“ I know you not.” So they disappeared, 
I am told, into the night. 

This little story, which our Lord Himself 
told so long ago, sets forth in a true light 
the confusion that shall come upon those 
wicked children on the last day who through 
their sins and folly shall have the sentence 
of banishment pronounced against them. 
O, I forgot to tell you the words which the 
bridegroom spoke to the wise virgins, “Come 
with me into my mansion,” said He, “you 
shall enjoy now the feast I have prepared 
for you.” You little folks have received 
a sweet invitation to the Kingdom of 
Heaven. The bridegroom will come for 
you at the hour of death. If He finds your 
lamp burning, that is, if your life be filled 
with good deeds. He shall invite you into 
the eternal mansion. You know what your 
fate will be if you live unwisely : Banish- 
ment from your true home forever. 

I feel sorry for poor Evangeline, for 
they say she never found her loved ones. 
I feel sorry for any little child, too, whom 
the devil is beguiling on to the ship of sin, 
for its destiny will be the sea of despair. 
Be wise now, little folks ; when your Lord 
calls for you at the final hour, be ready to 
greet Him with the light of faith and vir- 
tue. 


287 


XTbe Scolbino* 


“You will recall, young friends, that the 
title of our little book is, Twenty-Nine 
Chats and One Scolding,” We have had 
the chats, now for the scolding. I have 
purposely trailed it at the end of the book, 
because I have never in my life, as I can 
recall, scolded before. For this reason I 
will find it a painful duty now. 

After much thought, however, I have 
concluded that the time has come for me 
to say, at least a few cross words to you. 

Until now, I have held that boys could 
not be guilty of doing foolish things. That 
these were something proper to girls alone. 
But alas ! of recent days, I have changed 
my views. Now, I hold to it, that all 
youngsters are more or less unwise, and 
for this reason do I chide them. 

You know very well, that Almighty God 
has created you little folks, not for this 
world alone. You are only to skip through 
it. He has ordained you for eternal bliss 
with Him. 

All the sweet little things that you come 
288 


THE SCOLDING. 


across as the days pass, are not given to 
you as objects of the love of your little 
hearts. They are intended only as little 
‘‘ pushers ” to further you on the way to 
your true home, where Jesus lives. 

Very well, then, every little creature 
that my eyes rest upon, or my fingers touch, 
such as my tiny toys, should be to me as 
so many sweet helps to make me love God 
the more, and thus, save my soul. Yes, 
that is the idea. 

Every time then, that I taste of candy, 
for instance, and that is often, or every- 
time I skip out to play, I must ask myself, 
“ Does this taste of candy, or does this 
game help me on nearer to my God ; or 
does it hinder me from running to Him, or 
veer me into a dangerous pathway ? 

If it does, I must cease from using it. 
If it does not, I may enjoy it ever. 

I wish I could make this tiny gauge out 
of silver, and put it into the hands of all 
the little folks. I wish, too, that you were 
all little chemists, so that you could tell on 
the glance, whether the little pleasures, that 
the world holds out to you, are good for 
your souls or not. 

It is not necessary, however, that you be 
very learned to know that certain little 
trinkets in the world, of which you may 
IQ 289 


THE SCOLDING. 


be fond, hold you back from God, while 
other some hasten you to Him. 

Now, I say, you young folks merit a 
scolding just as often as you set your heart 
on any pastime in this world, without 
putting the all important question to your- 
selves. 

You deserve to be lectured as often as you 
make playthings the end of your existence 
instead of using them only as a means to 
reach your eternal end. 

I suppose now, you will conclude that I 
am cross to ail little folks, and would have 
them hold aloof from all fun. No, you 
mistake me. But I would give to you 
the advice of the Apostle. Whatever you 
do, be it even to frolic and play, do all, in 
the name of Our Lord Jesus. I know a little 
chap, who one day went into a drug-store. 
The clerk happened to be out. That is 
quite unusual, I know. The little shopper 
began to puff out words of awe, at sight of 
the big phials of pretty hue that stared at 
him from the shelves. “What a pretty 
tint this one has,” said he, tilting one of 
them to his lips, and sipping the strange 
liquid. 

He knew it. not, but he was drinking a 
deadly poison. In a twinkling the poor lad 
lay writhing on the floor. 

290 


THE SCOLDING. 


Now I do say that many of you, little 
friends, act, at times, as unwisely as the 
lad of whom I speak, you grasp the toys, 
the sweet things that loving hands hold 
out to you, never asking yourselves whether 
they be good for your souls or not. 

Do try, then, little folks to become even 
now spiritual chemists. Do not make use 
of any creature that will cause your little 
feet to tangle, and then fall. To be very 
plain : Do not have any chums, or enjoy 
any fun that will cause you to forget your 
Dearest Friend or make you to love Him 
the less. 

My scolding is over, so you can sigh in 
relief. Some place in Holy Scripture we 
are advised to be wise as serpents yet 
simple as doves. This advice fits you 
nicely — ^You are all like little doves, now 
simple and sinless. But you must be more 
if you would conquer the tempter. Be 
wise for your soul’s interests. 

As you pass along the highway of life, 
many flowers will wink at you and many 
birds will chirp at you. But beware. 
Take them as your companions only in so 
far as they may cheer your hearts or lighten 
your steps onward to your Home where 
Jesus your Friend waits to embrace you. 


291 


Columbujs iLtort 


An excellent collection of Books for the young. Printed 
from good clear type. Neatly bound in cloth. Arms of 
Columbus stamped on the cover. 

Any of the following will be sent postpaid on receipt of 
price. 


Angels’ Visits. 

By the author of “ Tales from the Diary of a Sister of 
Mercy.” Price 25c. 

Angel Dreams. 

A series of Catholic Tales for Children, by a Sister of 
Mercy. Price 25c. 

Beautiful Dittle Rose and the Muffin Girl. 

An interesting story for girls. Price 25c. 


lemma’s Cross, 

And other stories. 


Price 25c. 


Frederick Wilmot. 

A Painting and its Mission. A book to be read by boys 
and girls. Price 25c. 

Harry O’Brien, and Other Tales. 

A very interesting book for boys. Price 25c. 


Honor O’ Moore’s, 

Their homes and other stories. 

Joe Baker; or, The One Church. 

A story for boys and girls. 

The Young Astronomer. 

And other stories for boys. 

The Two Painters. 

A tale for the young. 

The Chapel of the Angels. 

A delightful story for the young. 

Young ^migrants. 

An interesting book for young folks. 
Adventure of Travel. 

A story for the young. 


Price 25c. 
Price 25c. 
Price 25c. 
Price 25c. 
’ Price 25c. 
Price 25c. 
Price 25c. 


1 


Ubc Stiver Series 


A series of Catholic Books exquisitely bound in fine cloth. 

Postpaid on receipt of price. 

A Pilgrimage to the l^and of Cid. 

Translated from the French of Frederick Ozanam. 

Price 45c. 

Catherine Hamilton. 

A tale for girls. Price 45c. 

Father Rowland. 

A North American Tale. Price 45c. 

Humility; or, I^ove of Self-Contempt. 

By Father Franchi. 361 pages. Price 45c. 

“ Henrietta ” ; or, The Home of the l/ost Child. 

Story of the Sisters of the Good Shepherd. Price 45c. 

Genevive. 

A tale of antiquity, showing the wonderful ways of Provi- 
dence in the protection of innocence. From theGerman of 
Christopher Von Schmid. With many illustrations. 

Price 45c. 

Glory and Sorrow, 

Or, the Consequences of Ambition. Translated from the 
French. Price 45c. 

Imitation of the Blessed Virgin. 

In four books. Illustrated. Price 45c. 

IVamp of the Sanctuary. 

A beautiful Catholic story, by Cardinal Wiseman. 

Price 50C. 

I/ives of the Fathers of the Desert. 

New edition. Illustrated. Price 45c. 

Stories of the Seven Virtues. 

Humility, Liberality, Chastity, Meekness, Temperance, 
Brotherly Love, Diligence. By Agnes M. Stewart. 216 
pages. Price 45c. 

Soul on Calvary. 

Meditating on the suffering of Jesus Christ, and finding 
at the foot of the Cross consolation in her troubles. With 
prayers, practices and examples on various subjects. 294 
pages. Price 45c. 

The Story of a Vocation. 

How it came and what came of it. Translated from 

the French. Price 45c. 

2 


Triumph of Religiou ; 

Or, a choice selection of Edifying Narratives. Compiled 
from various authors. By Rev. James Fitton. 216 pages. 
Fine cloth. Price 45c. 


Virtuous Villager. 

The History of Louisa, the Pious Country Girl, whose^ 


Edifying Life is filled with Useful Instruction. 212 pages, 
i8mo. Fine cloth. ^ Price 45c. 

I/ife of St. Stanislaus. 

Especially written for the young. Price 45c. 

The Two Schools. 

A beautiful Catholic Tale by Mrs. Hughes. Price 45c. 

Maggie’s Rosary and the White Angel. 

By E. Bowles. Price 45c 


Ipopular JSoofts. 

Any of the following books will be sent postpaid on 

receipt of price. 

Diary of a Sister of Mercy. 

Cloth bound. Price 750. 

Nora Brady’s Vow. 

A beautiful Catholic tale. By Mrs. Anna H. Dorsey. 

Price 75c. 

Fleurange, 

By Mme. Augustus Craven. The reception this tale 
has met with is very flattering. It commended itself to the 
favorable judgment of the London Saturday Review^ and 
other authorities of like critical acumen, and has been 
crowned by the F rench Academy. Price 80c. 

Father Mack. 

This is a beautiful Story written by a noted Humorist, 
Leo Gregory, and is bound in fine linen cloth. Price 75c. 

Glimpses of Pleasant Homes. 

A Few Tales for Youth. By a Member of the Order of 
Mercy. 236 pp., i2mo, cloth. Price 75c. 

Invitation Heeded, The. 

Reasons for a Return to Catholic Unity. By James 
Kent Stone. Price 75c. 

The above is the title of one of the best and most effec- 
tive controversial works which w^e have had the pleasure to 
read for some time. For those who believe in any histori- 

3 


cal Christianity, the argument contained in it is direct and 
unanswerable. 

Seven Gates of Heaven ; 

Or, the Teachings, Disciplines, Customs, and Manners of 
Administering the Sacraments by all Denominations. Sim- 
ply explained for the People. Superbly Illustrated. 472 
pages 8vo., fine cloth. Price $ 2 . 00 . 

Teaching Truth by Signs and Ceremonies ; 

Fifty-first Edition. One of the most popular books of our 
times. Illustrated with twenty-one beautiful engravings. 

Price ^i.oo. 

Great Cathedrals and Most Celebrated Churches of the 
World. 

Giving their Founders, Patrons, Builders and Architects, 
with a Complete History of Each up to our time. Beauti- 
fully Illustrated by the most Eminent Artists. 485 pages, 
octavo, fine cloth. Price $3.00. 

Man the Mirror of the Universe ; 

Or, the Agreement of Science and Religion. 375 pages, 
i2mo, cloth. Price ^i.oo. 

Christ’s Kingdom on Barth ; 

Or, the Church and her Divine Constitution, Organiza- 
tion, and Framework. With seventy beautiful engravings, 
octavo, fine cloth. Price ^2.50. 

Festal Year ; 

Or, the Origin, History, Ceremonies and Meanings of 
the Sundays, Seasons. Feasts, and Festivals of the Church 
During the Year. Illustrated with numerous engravings. 
i2mo., cloth. Price ^i.oo. 

Notes of a Missionary Priest in the Rocky Mountains. 

Illustrated with Eight half-tone engravings, by Rev. J. J.- 
Gibbons. Price 75c. 

“ On the Threshold of Uife.” 

By Rev. J. Guibert. Just published. Cloth. Price 50c 

Trowel and Cross, 

And other Catholic Stories. By Bolanden. Octavo. 
218 pages. Cloth. Price 7Sc. 


CHRISTIAN PRESS ASSOCIATION PUBLISHING 
COMPANY, 

26 Barclay Street, New York. 

4 


JAN 6 1905 


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